Polis Heart
by Ione-Sama
Summary: "I wouldn't care if the whole of Polis were to fall this day; no matter where we are or what we must do to fight – I only want you by my side." Set during S4Ep5- Tinder box. Spoilers are definite so you have been warned! Trying my hand at Roan/Clarke because my muse is telling me to. Now a DRABBLE SERIES, T to be safe. RR if you care to!
1. Polis Heart

**A/N: This is so random and I doubt many of you will even like it but I've gotta get it out of my head so I can finally get back to my other stories.**

 **Anyways, this is set during S4Ep5-Tinder box. There will be spoilers, so if you haven't gotten that far in the 100, you have been warned.**

 **/**

"We need to talk."

Roan had never known such a fear as the one that gripped his heart when he saw her standing there. Even as his right hand captain bit out that they had been ousted—'they knew we were coming'—his mind didn't even register it.

 _Wanheda…_

Was she a fool?! Coming here out in the open like this, she would get herself killed! And for what? To talk? Didn't she know they were long passed that now? There was nothing more he could do; if he stalled for her now, it would be the end of his reign as king. Chaos and anarchy would ensue and everyone would die.

He could do nothing to help her… no matter how desperately he wished otherwise. He had been powerless against her bravery, her passion and determination—she'd literally fought her way into his heart without even knowing it and now, he was still just as powerless only this time, to save her.

"Just give me ten minutes, that's all I ask, Roan, _please!"_

Even with the neon green target lasers on his back, it wouldn't have mattered either way; he couldn't refuse her, choice or no. But he kept calm, his harsh, indifferent exterior did not waver, even as he curtly relented and dismounted. He couldn't afford to let even a sliver of his inner feelings be known—otherwise, it would surely be the death of her at the hands of Azgeda.

"Eyes sharp! At the first shot you hear, loose your arrows and be ready to climb!" Echo's harsh command to his warriors, followed his back as Clarke lead the way to the neutral zone—a nearby cave—and the Ice Nation king clenched his fists until the nails dug into his palms, drawing blood.

Clarke was truly foolish; she was going to end up dead before this day was even over.

The taste of dread was bitter on his tongue.

"Are you that eager for death that you would come to greet the grim reaper at the door?!" He snarled once they were officially alone.

"Roan, I didn't have a choice! What the hell is going on? We had an agreement!" she whirled on him, tiny fists clenched and blue eyes alive and fiery—he cursed her for looking so entrancing, even now.

"You—are the most foolish woman I know." And yet, here he was, ready and waiting to hear her out.

He grit his teeth, arms crossing over his powerful chest as he eyed her sharply.

"Start talking."

/

Unbeknownst to the two leaders, dissension was already brewing amongst their own as one of Arkadia's gunman-Riley—went missing. Bellamy managed to convince a reluctant Echo to aid him in his search, but by then, it was too late.

By the time, they spotted him, it was obvious who his target was as Clarke and Roan were seen returning from the cave.

Riley's scope had the king in his sights and even if Echo took the shot, it wouldn't matter.

"CLARKE!" Bellamy screamed her name in a last ditch effort, hoping his partner would take cover—instead, she did the unthinkable.

Hearing Bellamy's desperate cry of warning, Clarke's blue eyes snapped up to the ridge, catching sight of Riley laying in wait, sniper rifle poised for the kill. Her blood ran cold and she _knew_ what would happen next if she didn't act _now._ Suddenly, the world around her moved in slow motion; she heard another cry from Bellamy and then her head snapped around, catching Roan's icy blue stare with a horrified look of her own.

He looked back at her—something she'd never seen before, flashing in his eyes for a split second before it was gone.

He knew.

He was going to die in the next few seconds, right before her eyes and she knew she couldn't bear to let that happen.

Turning to face the inevitability of her choice, she placed herself in the line of fire, arms spread out to the side as she shielded Roan from harm.

Some of Roan's warriors arrived at the scene after hearing shouts, and when they beheld the sight of Wanheda shielding their leader, they looked on in awe.

"Riley, no! Please, I know what you've been through but please don't hurt him!" Clarke's desperate, tear-filled cry echoed through the valley just as Echo's arrow was loosed, hitting Riley in the back of the head. "Echo, no!" Bellamy screamed. In a split second, Roan saw it and just before the gun went off, he reached for Clarke, his eyes blurring with rage and fear. "NO!" Was the Azgeda king's cry of despair, as he barely managed to get his arms around her waist, shielding her with his own body, before catching a bullet to the back. He grimaced against the fiery burn of sulfur and gunpowder scorching his skin, but one look at the _unharmed_ terrified woman in his arms, proved it was more than worth it.

"Ro-Roan?!" she cried, tears loosing from her terrified sky blues that were fixed worriedly on his face. He dropped to his knees, overcome by more than just the wound in his shoulder, and found himself pillowed against her as Clarke caught Him in her arms.

Then, all hell broke lose.

His warriors descended upon the few Skaikru Clarke had brought with her and he knew under Echo's command, they would not relent.

Shots rang out and that was when Kane and Monty appeared at their side.

"Take her and go!" He commanded gruffly. "There is nothing more you can do here."

Bellamy and Harper weren't far off, guarding their flank yet knowing better than to join in the fight; Riley's recklessness had caused this, not them.

"N-No, you can't, you're wounded, Roan, I can't just -"

He knew she would protest; she always put everyone above herself. She always made the horrible choices so no one else would have to bear the burden, and here she was again, defying the world and even the fact that some of her own were being _slaughtered_ by his warriors—all because she wanted to save him. And cursed be Skaikru and Praimfaya, he _loved_ her for it.

But now was not the time; it would take much more than a Skaikru bullet to stop him but she had to go now so that she could live to fight another day— live, so that he might see her again.

Gripping her shoulders harshly – with arrows and bullets flying overhead—he shook her hard, freeing her hands from their grip on his clothes. "Damn it, would you stop trying to kill yourself for everyone else?! _I WILL NOT LOSE YOU, Wanheda!"_ He screamed at her, all chaos around them forgotten as his icy blue orbs pinned her with a look that was both harsh and pleading.

A few tears escaped from her terrified sky blue eyes and again, he was struck with the thought: _she is so beautiful._

Casting her into the arms of her friends, he forced himself to his feet and turned his back. "Leave now. The one who caused this chaos is already dead and my warriors witnessed how you protected me; they will not follow you but I cannot guarantee it. Now _go!"_

Kane uttered a meaningful thank you and with that, the few remaining Skaikru escaped, dragging away a distressed Clarke and Roan forced himself to ignore her desperate cries of his name as he leapt into the fray.

/

Two weeks had passed and a tentative peace had settled. But the remnants of the 100 knew it wouldn't last and resolved to throw themselves into the final preparations for withstanding Praimfaya. Clarke had made a run to Polis to meet with Indra and Octavia to see just how dire their situation could become. Indra assured her that their safety was secure; word had spread of Clarke's bravery in protecting Azgeda's king and because of it, Roan had been able to rally the majority of his people behind him, strengthening the alliance between their two clans. There were still some who disagreed and of course, other clans had not recognized Roan's rule… but things were better than they had been in weeks and Clarke nearly cried in relief.

The majority of her relief was of course, hearing that Roan was alive and well recovered. She had an inclination as to what lie within her heart regarding Azgeda's king, but she still refused to fully acknowledge it. She was still confused; his parting words to her on the day, had given her a peek inside his heavily-fortified heart, and what she saw therein, terrified her. She'd loved before, and it had been ripped away from her. Yet what she saw in Roan's eyes that day was somehow a thousand times more intense than what she'd felt from Lexa. Lexa was calm, calculative, and warm. She and Lexa had been a slow-burn—something that grew steadily over time and solidified in the wake of their reunion.

Roan was _so different._ He was violent, chaos, hot-headed and brilliant. He ruled with a fiery, reckless passion she could see in his eyes—she admired that about him—but it was that same passionate fire that also _terrified_ her; it had been in his eyes that day when he'd looked at her…his passion was directed _at her_ , and she'd been shocked senseless and unable to breathe. What she felt for him and from him, had crashed over her like an ice cold wave that turned got, consuming her and leaving her blindsided, breathless and gasping. She'd never seen it coming.

She didn't know what it all meant… and yet some small part of her did and she just couldn't face it. Not now.

Whatever it was that he felt, whatever _she_ felt—it would end in nothing but sorrow and she couldn't take that. Not again. If losing him meant that he would be _safe_ , then sobeit; she would bury whatever feelings she had, deep inside herself and that would be the end of it. It was for this reason, she politely refused when Indra informed her of Roan's desire to have a meeting with her before she left. The fierce woman was greatly perplexed by Clarke's refusal and more than just a little alarmed. "Clarke, this is a request from Azgeda's _king_." Octavia prodded. She was equally baffled at her friend's dismissal, though she had a hunch as to the reason behind it. "He may have 'asked' but that doesn't mean it's a good idea to just refuse!"

"Tell him I'm sorry. Really, I'd meet with him if I could but there's a lot to get done and I have to get back." With this, she prepared to mount her horse, when a deep, gravelly voice froze her.

"That's what I expected you'd say – so I came here instead."

It was Roan. She knew his voice like the back of her hand, as if it had been echoing in her mind every waking moment since she met him.

Perhaps it had, in a way.

Her back was to him – her hands gripping the saddle of her horse, white-knuckled, but she couldn't even move. Something in her snapped and every instinct inside of her screamed fight -or-flight… it was ironic really. Two weeks ago, she'd been begging him to let her stay, fighting against Kane and Monty's hold just to get to him. Now, every fiber in her wanted to run as fast and as far away from him as she could – being near him after what she had admitted to herself, was just too much and she was suffocating…drowning.

"I understand, there is much to be done, but it will only take a moment so perhaps we could -"

In a flash, Clarke had hauled herself up on her black mare, and took off like a bat from hell.

"Clarke, what -?" Octavia's words were cut short, when Roan's voice thundered after Clarke just as she flashed out of Polis' gate, "Wanheda!"

The Azgeda king wasted no time. Whirling around, he stalked towards Indra's black stallion. "Indra, permit me the use of your horse." It wasn't a request but the Trikru warrior nodded anyways and once the king mounted, he took off at a grueling gallop after Clarke.

"What – just happened?" Indra turned bewildered eyes to her protégé but was only further baffled when she caught the beginnings of a mischievous grin glinting in the young woman's eyes.

"Heh. So the chase begins."

/

Clarke had barely made it into the woods when the sound of another horse's hooves thundering after her, reached her ears. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder –expecting Octavia—but was shell-shocked to see _Roan_ bent over his horse's neck, riding hard after her. His blue eyes caught her and darkened with a look –a look she knew to well. As if confirming her fears, his voice broke out over the closing distance between them. "Wanheda, running is a foolish mistake!"

She pushed on, even knowing that it was futile, yet unable to resist the furious pounding in her heart that pushed her onward. She couldn't face him. Not now. Not _yet._

The trees grew thick and she veered off, hoping to catch another more viable route of escape, when his powerful voice thundered—this time closer than before.

"You can't escape me and you know it. Stop this now! _Clarke!"_

He shouted her given name, and she faltered. It was only then that she realized he had chased her into a ravine; steep cliffs boxed her in on three sides, too high for her to even _attempt_ a climb herself, much less with her horse. The waterfall thundered down from above, feeding the river that cut a rugged path off to her right.

She was trapped. No way out but to surrender and face the Azgeda king her heart had been running from for weeks.

Eclipse eased to a final halt and Clarke felt minor regret at pushing the mare so hard. Dismounting on the side opposite Roan, she looked the reins loosely across the saddle and let Eclipse wander to the edge of the steam for a drink. Roan's fierce stallion skidded to a halt and he slid from the saddle, smacking it's hindquarters and the animal joined Clarke's at the riverbank.

His eyes were fixated on Clarke and he noticed the tension in her shoulders; her whole body was pulled taught like a bowstring—she was ready to run. "Don't. You already know running from me is futile. What I want to know is why did you try?"

"You already heard. I had to get back."

"And that is why I came to Indra's to speak with you but you didn't even give me the chance."

"I didn't notice you'd arrived." She lied.

"That's bullshit, Clarke; you _knew_ I was there. Your entire body stiffened when you heard my voice and then you took off like a demon from hell."

Her eyes dropped from his and she crossed her arms over her chest –a defense mechanism when she felt cornered.

"And now you're closing yourself off."

"What are you talking about?"

"You _always_ cross your arms like that when you want to keep someone out. What are you hiding now, _Wanheda?"_ he cocked his head to the side, blue eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her closely.

"Stop it. Nothing. I have to g-get back."

The tremor in her voice gave him pause and he started walking towards her, noting her every move. "Enough with the excuses, Clarke. What are you hiding?" he was ten feet from her and closing. It was getting harder to remain calm and she could feel her heart racing as he drew nearer.

"Roan, please it's -n-nothing." She forced her arms to her sides, attempting a brave front as she straightened her back and met his penetrating stare.

That's when that _something_ flashed in his eyes again and her own pupils dilated in alarm.

Her breathing had quickened and the way her eyes looked at him, he could sense _fear_ but it wasn't the kind anyone had ever regarded him with before.

"I know you, Wanheda; you have never feared me since the day we met, yet your eyes are wide with a terror that tells me it is your _heart_ that is afraid."

The hitch in her breath and dilation of her pupils was all the answer he needed and slowly, pieces were coming together, forming a truth he'd never dared hope to be true.

Dare he hope now?

"What is wrong? You have never hidden anything from me – even when it risked the lives of your people – yet here you are, fighting so desperately to escape me when I just want to talk."

She wasn't looking at him and her feet shuffled backwards as she began to turn away. "So talk then."

"Not until you look at me."

Another hitch in her breath was heard and this time, he caught a telltale shimmer in her eyes just before her golden tresses shielded her face from view.

Something unsettling dropped in the pit of his stomach – he recognized it as dread—and without another word, he surged forward and grabbed her by the arm. " _Enough._ Look at me." He commanded sharply, gripping her chin and forcing her eyes to his. It briefly occurred to him that this was the most intimately he had touched her, yet the sheen of tears in her eyes and the pain etched into her face, erased those frivolous thoughts and for the first time since knowing him, Clarke heard his voice _soften._ "What is it? You are terrified; I see it and it worries me." He confessed honestly, his eyes showed his concern as they bore intensely into hers.

"Ple-please _don't_ , Roan." And she shook her head, tears spilling over and pressing her lips together as she struggled against her feelings. "I can't – I can't do this again." She shook her head more vigorously and when he finally caught her eyes again, he read her heart instantly – just as she feared he would. Roan was cunningly perceptive and she'd learnt long ago, his ability to read peoples truest intentions, was his greatest strength.

He was unfathomable and no matter how ardently she'd fought against it, her heart had fallen into his hand, captive.

Her voice was a weak and shaky tremor now as she spoke but she didn't have the strength to care. "I can't – I can't d-do this _again!_ I've already lost too many people, I—everyone I ever love, gets taken away -"

The Azgeda king felt his heart pitch to his throat and suddenly, his battle-worn, blood – stained hands were cradling her face, wiping away her tears with a tenderness that not a soul in all of Azgeda, knew him to possess.

"Wanheda-"

But she shook her head, small hands gripping his wrists with a strength he hadn't known she had. "No. _No,_ you don't understand, Roan, I _cannot_ do this again. I can't…I _can't lose you too!_ I can't bear that. Not again! Not after-!"

"Shhh, Wanheda…" he murmured softly, dropping his forehead to hers.

Her fear was even clearer to him now but it was the confession of her heart that had his own soaring to the pinnacle of elation.

 _Ah. So this is what true happiness felt like?_

"As I told you that day on the battle field, Wanheda—I will _not_ lose you."

She closed her eyes, brows furrowed in anguish. "Roan, you can't promise that."

"Are you defying me?" he challenged, a bit of the icy harshness she knew so well, had returned to his voice and against her better judgement, her eyes opened, locking with his steely gaze.

"I did not ask for this, Clarke – but I know myself better than anyone. I know my own _heart_ better than anyone, because _you_ —are the _only_ one who has fought her way through and got in."

This admission actually brought a tiny _smile_ to Clarke's face, though it was slightly tinged with sadness. Yet, it was enough for the Azgeda warrior and a smile of his own formed as he uttered, a bit mirthful, "You are in my heart and in my blood, whether you like it or not, _sky princess."_

The new nickname caught her by surprise and she couldn't stop the unexpected half-laugh that bubbled from her lips.

It was the first semblance of laughter Roan had ever heard from her and thought half-hearted, he reveled in the newness of the sound and the way it seemed to have lifted a weight from her shoulders.

"If I had known how impossibly stubborn you would be when we met, I would've screamed louder to get those Azgeda scouts' attention." She muttered teasingly as she spoke of the day they met when Roan captured her.

At her cheeky smile, the Azgeda king scowled darkly before slipping an arm around her waist and harshly pulling her flush against him. "Hm. And if _I_ had known how often you'd be wasting my time with senseless talking, _I_ would have shut you up long before this."

She balked at him, indignant. "Excuse me?!" but his eyes were pools of _fire_ now and her protests were lost as his mouth sealed firmly over hers. She startled, not expecting such a bold advance from him so soon, but when she felt his strong, battle -hardened hands sliding down her sides, gripping her waist firmly and tugging aggressively against him, she couldn't help but smile against his lips as he eagerly prodded her to respond. For the first time in months, Clarke let herself go. So what if they'd been on the brink of war, countless times? So what if they were now facing a second world apocalypse? So they'd nearly died a hundred times over, and then some. So. Freaking. What! She was tired of always doing everything she could to merely _survive_ and always putting her heart on hold. What about _living_? What about _her_ and what _she_ wanted? Yes, loving Roan was a great risk, yes it meant opening herself up again to the possibility of pain and loss… but being in this moment now, wrapped in his strong arms and enslaved to his fiery kisses, she knew if she hadn't taken this chance, she would have regretted it for the rest of her life. Winding her arms around his neck, she let her fingers twine into his hair and in the next heartbeat, she let the remaining walls around her heart, crumble and fall away.

For Roan, he felt the moment she surrendered herself fully, as her body sank completely into his embrace. His heart did another violent skyrocket and he in turn let his own control slip away as he lifted her into his arms and pinned her against the solid rock wall.

She was lost in the warmth of his arms and feel of his kiss, until she felt the cool hardness of the ravine's wall, press into her back. She pulled back for a moment, breaking the kiss as she gasped for air, meeting his unwavering heated stare with a timid one of her own.

"Roan, I need you to listen to me."

He shook his head. "No. No, enough of your senseless babbling, Wanheda—you cannot run now and even if you tried -"

She sensed to dread lurking just behind his eyes and she shook her head in turn, framing his face in her hands and looking him squarely in the eyes. "I will never run again, Roan. Not ever. I don't want to."

"Good. There is no need to." He stated firmly.

"But I _do_ need you to understand that I still have an obligation to do everything I can to save everyone. And I mean _Everyone_ , okay? This isn't about 'your people' vs. 'my people' I don't believe that."

He listened intently. "Then what do you believe?"

She looked back and forth from his eyes, knowing that the words burning at the tip of her tongue, would officially seal her fate. But she'd already made her decision, there was no need to fear or hesitate. "I love _you_. _You_ are my people now and for me, that means your family is also my family. All of you. _Everyone_ is my people, Roan. I won't ever betray that, I promise you and I swear on my life I'm going to do everything I can to save us all. Please believe me, okay? I just – if we're going to do this, if – if we're going to be together, I _need_ you to believe me more than anyone else because I-"

His lips were on hers in the span of a breath, kissing her fervently, _feverishly_ before he was pulling back just enough to murmur ardently, "I wouldn't care if the whole of Polis were to fall this day; no matter where we are or what we must do to fight – I only want you by my side, Clarke. If you will accept me _fully,_ then you needn't worry because I will always stand with you." He set her on her feet once more but his arms kept her close as he combed his fingers through her hair, gazing into her eyes. "You have my heart. And my loyalty. Always."

She tip-toed, kissing him deeply as her arms embraced as much of him as she could reach, holding him close to her heart. "And you have mine, Roan. Always." She whispered sweetly and this time, her smile was incandescent joy.

/

 **A/N: yeah, this just wouldn't get out of my head sooooooo….. hear it is. Review of you like! Now, let's hope I can get these muses back on track!**


	2. Hainofi

**A/N: this was originally just a one – shot but I got a request for more AND I've had more ideas for this pairing, running around in my head anyway! So this is now a drabble collection of various Clarke/Roan vignettes.**

 **Any specific plot requests, you are welcome to leave along with your reviews.**

 **/**

 **(Takes place during Season 4 Ep 10 "Die all, die merrily") if you haven't gotten this far, this is your official spoiler warning!**

 **/**

 _Hainofi_

 _Clarke/Roan_

 _Rating: T_

"A fight to the _death?_ So you're telling me that instead of working together so that we all get a chance to survive, we're gonna kill each other off and whoever's left gets the bunker?"

Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck reluctantly. He was tired and not looking forward to yet _another_ argument.

"Clarke… if it's the only way to settle this fairly, then…"

"Whose idea was this?!"

The blonde was less than happy with the news – in fact, she was _furious._ Which left Bellamy, Kane and her mother more than a little confused; when it came down to it, with Octavia as their fighter, _Skaikru_ had a good chance of winning and Clarke more than anyone else, never backed down from doing what was necessary for the survival of their people. Why was she so angry this time?

"Whose idea was this, Bellamy?" she persisted angrily. "Yours?!"

But before the brunette could answer, Kane stepped in. "Not Bellamy's. Roan's."

Her body went cold and she stared back at Kane in shock.

"…Roan?"

"The clans were getting restless, Clarke; revolt was in the air, we sensed it, _Roan_ sensed it. Azgeda would have overthrown him in the blink of an eye, if he hadn't found a way. This was the best solution he could think of. As much as I don't like it, I have to agree that it – makes sense."

"No."

All eyes cut to Clarke and the blonde was shaking her head vigorously, blue eyes hard and defiant. "No. We can't accept this! _I_ won't accept this!"

"Clarke, honey - there's nothing you can do; the fights have already been set for tomorrow at noon. You did _everything_ you could but these are _Roan's_ people. I know he's your friend but it's time you let him handle this." Abby ran a tentative hand down her daughter's arm in an attempt to soothe her, but Clarke only recoiled, shaking her head yet again. "No. You might be okay with this but I refuse to be, and king or not, I'm not going to just sit by and let Roan martyr himself." With that, the blonde turned on her heel and left.

It was a long way to Polis on horseback, but she didn't care. She had to stop Roan before he destroyed his people and himself.

/

She reached Polis just after dawn but it was several hours before she managed to gain an audience with Roan – Azgeda's King was in conference most of the morning, conferring with the ambassadors and afterwards, he left straight for his chambers to prepare for the conclave.

It took a bit of time and a plea to Indra that it was imperative she speak with Roan _before_ the fight. At last, she got her way and with only a single hour remaining before the opening ceremonies, Clarke refused to waste one precious second.

Roan stood in his chambers freshly bathed and dressing for battle, when there was an abrupt knock at the door.

"Enter."

"Ai Haihefa. Clarke kom Skaikru begs an audience with you."

The Azgeda King smirked knowingly. "Let her in."

The guard bowed and in the next moment, Clarke was sweeping briskly into the room, hands poised on her hips, lips pursed in a grim line and eyes spitting fire.

He shook his head and held up a hand just as her lips parted to speak. "Before you _again_ try to plead your case, there is no need. I've taken care of it and Skaikru will have a fair chance at the bunker, just like everyone else. You're welcome."

The amusement was clear in his deep, gravelly voice and had it been any other time, Clarke may have questioned whether or not that was a _smile_ twinkling in his eyes. But there was no time and he was clearly under the very _false_ impression that she was one hundred percent onboard with this whole affair.

Was he ever in for a surprise.

"Just what in the hell are you doing, Roan?"

He paused – shirt half over his head – and looked over at her. "Excuse me?"

She huffed in exasperation and gestured to his weapons laid out on the table nearby. "I thought we'd agreed to give _everyone_ a chance to be saved. Now you're getting ready for some insane fight to the death instead?!"

He sighed heavily, pulling his shirt the rest of the way on, before walking to the table and resting his hands heavily on the surface. His eyes scrutinized his weapons carefully, critically – each one having been chosen for a specific purpose and he did not look at her. "This is a chance, Clarke. This was the only way I could resolve things peacefully."

"Really. Really, so you call a ceremonial _massacre_ , peaceful?!"

He shot a sharp look at her over his shoulder. "You speak as if I'm committing everyone to death; if everyone fights, _everyone_ has a chance at survival – including Skaikru. I thought that's what you wanted."

She gaped at him. "What _I_ wanted? No, I wanted everyone to have an equal share in the bunker and I thought you did too."

He grit his teeth, drawing up to his full height as he faced the enraged blonde. "Clarke, _no one_ in Azgeda will 'share equally' with anyone but their own. I know it, you know it and if we insist on forcing it now, believe me there will still be a blood bath, the only difference is it will happen underground and there will be no fair play to be had."

He turned his back on her then and proceeded to don his leather jacket. The silence drew on for a time, until he heard her move closer and when he looked up, she was staring at his body like he had some terrible incurable disease. "What are you doing?" she asked.

He cocked a brow at her, fastening the last buckle on his jacket before taking up his sword and strapping it to his hips. "I would think it's obvious."

That was when something terrifying struck her and she realized… _he_ was going to fight.

"You – Roan, you can't be serious! You're the King! If you win, your people are going to need you to lead them!"

"You mean 'when' I win." His smirk was devious then. "You are right, my people need their king to lead them; that is precisely why I must fight."

"But you're the _King –_ Roan you can choose someone to fight for you."

But the monarch was shaking his head as he tied off his boots and sheathed a dagger at his calf. "No I can't."

" _Why?!_ Even your mother -"

Her desperation was confusing him. Why was she suddenly so adamant that he not fight? Why was she so against this? It was her mounting persistence however, that was starting to piss him off and he turned on her, his patience at an end. "My mother was highly respected and feared by her people. She delivered punishment where she saw fit and she cow towed to _no one._ My reign – at best – has been questionable in the eyes of Azgeda and if I were to hide behind the back of someone else in this fight, it would only weaken me further." He grit out, his tone harsh and unforgiving. "I have sacrificed – a great deal of my influence, Clarke, and the majority of it has been for _Skaikru's_ sake. Your sake. I will not give you any more of my dignity. As king of Azgeda _I_ will fight for the future of my people. Just as Octavia will fight for the future of yours." He stood before her, draped in full battle garb and even though his expression was hard– void of all emotion – and the look in his eyes like Death himself, Clarke could not tear her eyes away and her heart leapt inexplicably in her chest. Even in this terror – filled moment, Roan of Azgeda was _beautiful_ and it was perhaps this very thought that had the blonde terrified and fighting against reality with everything she had.

Even with all that was at stake, after _everything_ they'd sacrificed, in the end she couldn't bear to see _Roan_ sacrificed too. Not Roan. Not after all he'd done for her.

He was brushing passed her now and it was only then that Clarke was ripped from her thoughts by the sound of the victory horn signaling it was ten minutes before the start of the ceremony.

"This is goodbye, Wanheda." His dark raspy voice seemed to echo loudly in the stillness of the room and it was enough to boost her waning courage. Moving without a thought, her hand reached for him and she grasped his arm just before he reached the door.

"Roan, please."

Startled by the sudden pressure of her hand on his arm, Roan's glacial orbs darted one last look back – only to freeze when the tears welling in her eyes were already cutting a path down her cheeks. He'd seen her weep only once before and that had been when she nearly lost her mother. That was an understandable grief, though not one he could easily relate to.

But this? He had no viable explanation so he simply stared, brows furrowed and lips curved in a curious frown.

When she opened her mouth to speak, her lips quivered and her voice was small and unsteady. "… _please, don't do this!"_

More tears tracked down her now – reddened cheeks as she begged him, and pleaded with him not to go through with this. _But why?_ "Clarke, I don't – You have always done what is necessary, so why -"

Her fingers tightened on his arm and she was shaking her head vigorously. "No. Not this time. I can't. I can't do this. Not _this."_

His eyes narrowed, gazing upon her intently as he almost turned towards her. "Why?"

Her lips rolled together – her eyes faltering to the floor for only a moment before she stared him down with renewed determination. "Because this time, it's you."

He shook his head slowly, still at a loss to her reasoning. His eyes fell to the floor searchingly. "And why – Why should that make a difference?" his eyes locked with hers again, sharp and penetrating.

"You have sacrificed nearly everything for your people Clarke, so have I; it's what we do as leaders and you – You, _Wanheda –_ have always understood that we do what we must -"

"Well I can't do _this._ I can't – I can't sacrifice you, Roan."

His head tilted to the side, watching her closely and he spoke lowly. "You have – never refused that option before this. You have-"

"No! I can't -" her words cut off and suddenly, her free hand covered her mouth as she attempted to stifle a bitter cry. Fresh tears stained her cheeks and dripped off the end of her chin. "I – I c-can't watch you _die,_ Roan…!"

She hiccuped and this time, she looked right at him not even caring to hide her tears, though she knew he likely saw it as weakness.

"Clarke…"

"I can't lose you too."

And there it was. The confession was out in the open and though Clarke had sworn to herself she would never let anyone that close again, Roan had swept into her life like a violent whirlwind. She'd never expected it, she was unprepared and he'd left all of the perfectly – constructed walls around her heart, in a heap of destruction at her feet. He had no way of knowing what he'd done and she'd promised herself she would keep _this_ secret for good.

…But now, they were on the brink of yet _another_ war, only this time, _Roan_ was the one prepared to martyr himself without a second thought.

There was no time to hold back now – to _hell_ with secrets.

"You can't ask that of me. You can't ask me to just stand aside and watch someone I – someone I deeply care about – march off to his death!" her eyes found his again only this time, his eyes were shuttered and his expression completely closed off. She had no way of knowing what was going through his head and the suspense was killing her.

Her hands started to shake and her voice trembled when she tried one last time. "Just – please don't do this to me. Let me find another way, please!"

Still nothing.

Then, there was a knock and one of Roan's guards spoke through the door. "My Lord, they are ready for you."

"I am on my way, Elrick."

This only proved to Clarke that he had disregarded every one of her pleas and now, she was beyond desperate.

"No. No, you _won't_ be going anywhere." With that, she surprised him with a knee to the gut and in one last ditch effort to force him to stay, she threw herself between him and his only way out, bolted the door and turned to face him with a dagger in hand.

Catching his breath, Roan stood tall, and whirled on her. He should have expected something like this from her, but to be honest, he hadn't _expected_ any of it. – not over this. Not because of _him._

"Clarke. You know you have just committed treason?"

She didn't flinch. Her eyes stayed locked with his and he could see she held no regret for her actions. "I don't care. If this keeps you from being reckless – if this keeps you alive, then I'll do whatever it takes."

His expression changed then and she thought she saw something between disappointment and longing cross his features. "Clarke, get out of my way."

Her grip tightened on her dagger, her feet spread apart as she anchored herself to block his way. "No."

His lips thinned and his expression hardened. "I won't ask you again." He warned.

"Then you'll have to kill me."

Her words caused painto flash clearly in his eyes.

"Don't do this, Clarke…please don't."

She lightly shook her head – one last loan tear spilling down her cheek before pursed her lips and lifted her chin defiantly. "I am not – losing someone I love to this war, again."

 _This_ fostered a reaction from him and she watched in hidden amusement as the feared King of Azgeda actually went slack – jawed.

He said nothing. What could he say? All he could do was gape at this woman, wide – eyed and utterly speechless.

The summoning horn echoed once again in the distance but neither moved an inch.

They held each others' gaze.

There was a turn of expression in his eyes and then he was surging towards her.

Interpreting his move as an attack, Clarke braced herself and charged him.

But then, everything went wrong. Before she even had a chance, Roan had disarmed her and his strong arms locked around her waste. In a moment of panic, she thrashed in his hold, then her demeanor changed and she was fighting against him angrily, beating him with her fists and screaming. "No, no! You can't do this! No!"

She fought with all she had and he struggled to restrain her. "Clarke – You will draw every one of my guards here in seconds -"

"I don't care! I won't – let you do this, you can't do this!"

"Clarke, Enough!" He hissed venomous. Managing to wrestle her so her back was pressed against his chest, he grabbed her wrists and forcefully pinned her arms to her chest in a cross, restricting the majority of her movement. She couldn't do much against him now and they both knew it.

But Clarke was stubborn – as always – and she started to kick in a fruitless effort to fight him. "P-Please. Please, please, please don't do this, don't - d-don't go!"

"Clarke, _listen to me!"_ he pressed his lips to her ear so she would hear him. "Listen to me, you have to _stop_ this."

Her head thrashed about and it wasn't long before she was breaking down in uncontrollable sobs.

The sight of her in such _agony_ actually broke his heart; he couldn't bear to see her falling apart like this when for all the months he'd known her, she had been _so strong._

Pulling her close, he pressed his cheek against hers and spoke softly into her ear. "Clarke, listen to me. Please. You are so strong, Clarke. Stronger than anyone I know. I _know_ you have overcome insurmountable odds, and I know you can – "

" _But I_ _ **can't**_ _lose you…"_ she whimpered brokenly and the Azgeda King closed his eyes and buried his face against her cheek. Her cries tore wretchedly at his heart and he sighed in heavy defeat. " _Why_ must you do this to me now, Woman?" he whispered thickly. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd cried; was he a child? Perhaps when he was just a baby? Regardless of if or when, Clarke was making it exceedingly difficult for him to maintain his control in this moment.

"I was _resolved_ to never let you close, yet – it seems I've lost to you – _again._ Damn you, Wanheda…"

Turning her in his arms, he gave her no opportunity to speak before cradling her face in his hands and pressing his mouth to hers.

Clarke was left stunned and breathless only for a moment, before she was pressing back just as firmly, fingers clinging desperately to the collar of his jacket as she feverishly kissed him back.

He responded in kind. Tangling his fingers in her long blonde hair and yanking her head back so he could deepen the kiss. His mouth was harsh and unforgiving on hers but she embraced it, knowing it was a reflection of what he felt for her.

When his tongue swept passed the seam of her lips, her body quaked and her legs gave way.

He caught her easily, holding her flush against him as he feasted upon her lips, groaning in shameless ecstasy – she tasted of honey and rain – an odd combination that had just become his most favorite.

Then, there was a knock at the door and the couple broke apart only scant inches.

"Enter, Elrick."

"Forgive me, Haihefa…but the Council cannot wait. The conclave must commence."

Roan spared him a curt nod before turning his attention back to Clarke. He smoothed the hair away from her face and eyes, simultaneously wiping away any evidence of tears with the pads of his thumbs. "Sen in gon ai, ai hainofi _(Listen to me, my princess)."_

"You have to let me go."

Fear gripped her and she clung to him yet again, "N-No, no, no, no, Roan _please,"_ she protested arduously, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips. " _Listen._ Clarke, you have to – let me go. You have to trust me. If there was ever a time in your life to just _trust_ me. Blindly. This is that time." His persistence was wearing her down even though the tears had begun to return.

"Trust me, Hainofi." He demanded firmly.

"There is a word in your language – called 'love'. The word or phrase in Azgedasleng is ' _Hod in'_ to put it in simpler terms, it directly means _'bottomless heart'_ or some say ' _a soul withholding nothing.'_ "

His blue eyes found hers and he cupped her cheek. "Trust me in _this,_ if you can. Trust that my heart – is a depth for you, without end. Can you?"

It was hardly the conventional kind of confession; his words were so simple, yet the _feeling_ behind them and the depth of passion in his eyes as he spoke – it stole her breath away. She didn't want to let him go – even still. But something in her heart knew that there was no choice and she had to let this go and trust him to bring this fight to it's end. So she would trust him, come what may.

Lifting her chin, she swallowed back her tears and looked him squarely in the eye. "I trust you." She breathed.

There was a small glimmer of a smile behind his eyes – and then he dropped one final kiss to her forehead, before he was gone.

"Elrick, protect Wanheda. She is not to leave your sight." He ordered sharply.

His guard bowed respectfully. "Yes, Heiheda."

Only when he'd vanished from sight, did Clarke allow the tears to fall. She fell apart and crumbled to the floor.

(TBC in _Hainofi, Part II)_

/

 **A/N: Don't really know where I'm going with this but just moving with the flow.**


	3. Please, Rescue Me (Hainofi, part II)

_**Here's the awaited sequel to**_ _Hainofi,_ _ **however, this takes place between Ep10 & 11, right after the final conclave and in my story, there is still a week left until Praimfaya.**_

 _ **/**_

 _Hainofi Part II_

 _Please, Rescue Me_

 _Rating: K-T_

The fighting carried long into the night and in spite of Clarke's stubborn refusal to attend the opening ceremonies, she couldn't bring herself to sleep. Though a servant arrived just after dark with robes to dress her for bed (apparently a certain Azgeda King had left very specific instructions for her care), Clarke knew that she wouldn't be catching a moment's respite. After she'd changed and an evening meal had been brought, the restless blonde paced her room, dressed in a cobalt blue gauzy sheer robe and wringing her hands anxiously. She didn't touch a single morsel of food, knowing that whatever she attempted to consume would only come back up as a result of her violently churning stomach and many times, she found herself standing at the large open window gazing out into the night and praying that every cry of dying agony she heard, _wasn't him._

A messenger came a few times and reported on the fight – who was left and which fighters were in the lead to win. She learned of Echo's unfair deception and felt both pride and sympathy when she heard of Roan condemning Echo to banishment; she knew it couldn't have been easy condemning one of his own, but she fiercely admired his desire to uphold honesty and fairness. It was only one of the _many_ things she loved about him and her heart ached, not knowing where he was or if he was alright. He was still alive, no doubt, but he could be severely wounded – alone, bleeding and in excruciating pain and she had no way of getting to him to ease his suffering. The helplessness was killing her and just as dawn broke, she was so close to losing her mind. A loud banging at the door, jolted her and heart in her throat, she bolted to answer it. It was Indra and one look at the Trikru warrior, Clarke knew something was wrong. "Clarke, you must come. Quickly."

She didn't even stop to change, only nodded and hastened after Indra without a word. Once they were in the corridor, they were met by a bloody and bruised Octavia but aside from being filthy and a few flesh wounds, the young woman looked no more worse for wear.

"Octavia? What - what's happened?" Octavia fell in step beside them. "It's Roan; we met at the start of the fight – he struck a bargain with me; he promised that if we fought as one, he would insure the safety of _Skaikru_ as well as Azgeda."

"It seems King Roan had already made a pact with all twelve of the clan ambassadors." Indra interjected. "If he won this fight, he swore a blood oath that he would insure the futures of them all – each clan has already chosen their hundred and all the representatives swore an equal blood oath in return."

The blonde was shell – shocked. " _Everyone…?_ Then Roan wasn't – just fighting for Azgeda…"

"Nope. Seems that king of yours is full of surprises."

"So then you won."

Octavia's expression was grim as they hurried down the halls. " _Roan_ won. But not before that bitch natblida got to him."

"Luna?!" Clarke grabbed her friend's arm. "Octavia, _what aren't you telling me?"_ She demanded shakily.

"There's no time, Clarke!" Indra cut in sharply. "Roan and Octavia were set to take on Luna together. But they were separated in the fight and he foolishly confronted her on his own."

They had just entered the corridor that lead to Roan's chambers and Clarke felt her stomach churning with a sickening dread. Her knuckles turned white where they still held fast to Octavia's arm. "The bitch drowned him before I could even get to him." Octavia bit out. They were nearly to the door and she signaled the guards standing watch.

" _W-What?!"_ all the color drained from Clarke's face and she could feel herself teetering on the edge of consciousness as all strength left her body.

It was Indra's harsh grip on her arm and Octavia's voice that cut through the dizzying haze. "Clarke, you _can't_ lose it now. Luna left herself unguarded when she attacked him and I took her out. I brought him straight here as soon as it was done. I know you can _do this_. Believe it or not, I was actually paying attention when you gave us a crash course in CPR."

When they entered the room and she saw Roan lying there on the table, soaked, bloodied and lifeless, she thought she was going to be sick. But she forced back the bile and leveled Octavia with a hard look. "How long?"

"As of now, two minutes."

With that information, Clarke forced all other thoughts from her mind and headed straight for the table. "I need everyone out of my way. Now. If you expect me to save him, the last thing I need is any distractions." A few of Roan's most loyal guards stood by, faces ashen and looking on at their lifeless king. "Octavia, please. I need them out." The brunette nodded and after a few sharp words in Trigedasleng, the guards filed out until all who remained were Clarke, Indra, Octavia and Elrick. Clarke checked his pulse. There was none. Forcing away the pain, she addressed Elrick. "I need you to strip him down to his waist, now."

"Of course, Hainofi." And with longest thirty seconds of Clarke's life, commenced. The moment Roan was stripped, she started immediate compressions. The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow, yet she didn't let up, not even when a sheen of sweat stood out on her forehead and her breathing was labored.

At length, when three minutes had passed, Indra laid a gentle hand on the blonde's shoulder. "Clarke…"

"No." She paid the older woman no mind and her compressions only intensified as she began mouth – to – mouth.

"What is she doing to him?" Elrick shifted uneasily and his hand shifted to the hilt of his sword.

" _Shut up!_ She's saving him." Octavia hissed, but the royal guard was unconvinced and he shook his head. "No. No, I can't allow her to desecrate him like this! Guards!" in the next second, the room was swarming with several of Roan's warriors, who rushed the blonde healer in an attempt to remove her from their master.

Indra and Octavia took offensive stances and engaged the Azgeda warriors. "She's the _only_ chance your King has to be saved! You know Roan trusts the wisdom of Wanheda kom Skaikru!" Indra shouted above the chaos and clanging of swords, but the warriors wouldn't listen to reason. At length, she knew their only option was to buy Clarke as much time as the could and so with a mighty cry, she and Octavia brandished their weapons and leapt to the fray.

Even amidst the cries of vicious battle, Clarke did not waver. Even when one of the warriors managed to get passed Octavia and made a grab for her, she didn't bat an eyelash as she whirled around, catching him in the thigh with her scalpel. The big man cried out in agony and crumbled to the floor, bleeding.

She turned back to Roan and flooded his mouth with her own breath yet again. Two breaths.

 _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…_ she counted all the way to thirty. Then two more breaths. She could here the sounds of Indra and Octavia fighting off the guards, in the background, but it was almost a distant buzzing as all her focus was centered on Roan. Suddenly, Elrick's hands were around her arms and he was yanking her away from Roan's side. " _Enough,_ Wanheda. Leave our king to rest in peace! His fight is over -"

A vicious scream tore itself from Clarke's lips, _"Noooo!"_ In a burst of adrenaline – induced strength, she tore out of Elrick's grasp and threw him across the room. Scrambling to Roan's side, she leaned over him and framed his face with trembling hands. "Roan. Roan? _You have to wake up!"_ More shouts rang out as the guards called for reinforcements and Indra shot Clarke a look of desperation. "Wanheda! We have no more time! Save the king or _let him go!"_

Tears of agony steamed from her eyes, blurring her vision, and the young healer turned angry in her desperation. She slapped Roan hard, once and then again. "Roan! _I swear, if you don't fucking wake up right now, I'll never forgive you!_ You can't do this to me! Damn it, Roan, wake up," by now, she was pounding on his chest with her fist – she could hear his ribs cracking with the force and she knew her own hand would have more than a few fractures. She didn't care. Her fist never stopped and her voice screamed his name over and over. _"Roan, Roan, wake up! Damn you, wake up!_ _ **WAKE UP!**_ "

There was a sudden strangled aspiration and then the King of Azgeda covulsed violently, choking as huge amounts of water spewed forth from his mouth.

His body shook from the force of his coughing and then he heaved over, puking up the last remnants of water that still lingered in his system. "Haihefa!" Two of his men were at his side in an instant, supporting most of his weight and all previous fighting was forgotten.

"What - *cough* - What has happened, Elrick?" he rasped. "W – What of the fight?"

"You won." Octavia muttered from where she stood leaning over, hands on her knees and gasping for breath. "I – I should've known better than to believe a simple drowning would stop someone like _you."_ She chuckled, sputtering as a bout of coughing overtook her.

"Luna. I should have known. Then how am I _here_ now?"

"How do you think? Wanheda fought to save you." Indra responded tightly. "Even when your men threatened her life in the process," she cast a scathing look to all those present. "She never gave up. And even fought back when she had to." She gestured with the hilt of her sword, to the one warrior lying on the floor, still bleeding and unconscious.

Roan shook his head, feeling pity for the unfortunate guard who had underestimated her. Then his sharp eyes swept the room and not finding what he sought, he clenched a fist and staggered to his feet. "If it was Wanheda – then where is she?" he demanded, yet he was met with only looks of confusion and shakes of the head.

"Elrick. I told you _not_ to let her out of your sight." Seeming relatively recovered, Roan turned to his guard and his countenance was etched with obvious displeasure. "What. Is the meaning of this?" he demanded, all sensing the great Ice King's anger kindling swiftly.

"I - Haihefa-"

"Haihefa!" a servant had burst in and seeing Roan, bowed low to the floor. "Forgive my intrusion but Wanheda was spotted running through the streets only moments ago. She was headed for the stables, Sire, and – well f – Forgive my impudence but she was dressed in nothing but her night robe which was bloody and torn. She appeared to be deeply distressed, Highness..."

"Thank you. You may return."

The servant bowed once more. "Yes, Haihefa."

When the servant was gone. Roan turned to his new Second, Tarik. "No one leaves this room until I return. Indra and Octavia are to be given lodgings – and the rest of you – you took a stand _against_ Wanheda who is not only a known ally of Azgeda, but also a precious subject and savior of your King. You attack _her,_ you attack me. I will not tolerate such treachery again." With that, he was gone, leaving a deathly silence in his wake.

"Well. _That_ went well." Octavia shook her head and sheathed her swords.

/

He could hear the sounds of strangled sobbing before he even reached the stables. Clarke had always been a stubborn and obstinate woman; even in her grief, she refused to fall apart in the presence of _anyone,_ so it made sense why she would seek out a place like this to compose herself – he just didn't understand her need to do it alone.

He found her in one of the empty stables – barefoot, disheveled and shaking from head to toe, fighting to suppress her cries.

Roan frowned sadly. "The mighty Wanheda. You've fought against the mountain men when every warrior from Trikru to Azgeda, feared them. You've stood against great armies alone, for the sake of your people – yet, hear you are – straw in your hair, and hiding away in a stable because you're too afraid to let anyone see you weak."

Her eyes locked onto him, wide and glistening. "…Roan…" She whispered his name, unable to move and unable to tear her eyes away. Even bloody and beaten, he was the most beautiful thing in all the world and her heart clenched painfully.

"You want to know what I believe about weakness, Clarke? To me, emotion is not weakness - it's the _denial_ that we are human and that we feel things deeply – that truly weakens us. We must be strong in the face of our fight … but I believe that in the face of grief, true strength lies in being brave enough to let ourselves fall apart." He was closing in on her now, his blue eyes burning into hers, strong and gentle. "… and brave enough to let someone catch us."

His words were her undoing and she crumbled to the floor, wailing openly as she let all the fear, anger and frustration she'd felt, sweep over her.

Roan was at her side in an instant, falling to his knees, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her into his lap. She couldn't stop the tears and turning in his arms, she wrapped her arms around his neck and wept into his hair.

Roan held her back just as fiercely, feeling the prickle of tears as she cradled him against her, _begging_ him never to leave her again. _'Please, please don't ever leave'_ she cried over and over and over again and he simply wound his arms around her tighter and did his best to smooth her hair back while kissing away her tears. At last, there were no tears left to cry and Clarke sagged against him, exhausted but she protested when she felt him lifting her into his arms. "You were 'dead' for three and a half minutes, Roan - You're not strong enough yet." She said, but her Azgeda warrior only smirked impishly at her and replied, "You may not know this, but I _have_ carried you before this, _Hainofi,"_ his lips were at her ear and his voice low and teasing. "To me, you are lighter than a feather."

Something about the way he said it, the tone in his voice concealing dark promises to come, had her cheeks flooding a furious red and she buried her face in his neck, pretending he _hadn't_ seen and that she _couldn't_ feel the deep rumbling in his chest that signified his laughter.

 _Finale._

/

 _ **I may have a few more drabbles up my sleeve ;) ;)**_


	4. Fisa

_Fisa_

 _(Healer)_

 _Post-season 2_

 _/_

 _Nyilah's trading post…_

"Have a drink while you wait."

She knew it wasn't smart. Lingering for too long in any place, was liable to get her caught and besides that, she'd sensed _someone_ following her earlier that day – the sensation of being watched was a palpable tingle up her spine she couldn't shake.

But it would take Nyilah some time to prepare the meat and considering Clarke had gone days without a proper meal, she really had no choice but to wait.

she'd finished the drink and even managed to have a brief look around, before the door to the trading post scraped open and in walked a tall, fur-laden grounder. His hair was in tangled, matted braids that hung down his back, his face was smeared black with dirt and smoke and his eyes were pale, blue and piercing.

The shrewdness in their depth, unnerved her and she kept her head down. Thank God she'd had the foresight to smear her own face and dye her hair; she would've stood out painfully otherwise and likely, be dead by now.

Keeping her face hidden from view, she feigned interest in some crudely carved dishes, keeping the stranger in her peripheral vision at all times.

There was a rustling and then crinkling – like paper – as she witnessed the stranger approach Nyilah.

" _Dula op yu get in disha plan? (Do you know this woman?)"_ From his pocket, he procured a well worn sketch of a woman with youthful – yet defined features, long waving tresses and what appeared to be a worn leather jacket.

Clarke's blood ran cold.

It was a sketch of her and the likeness was impeccable.

Forcing the tremors in her body to quiet, she eavesdropped on their conversation and hoped to God, Nyilah wouldn't betray her. _"Em was hir, ba days ago (she was here, but days ago)."_

The stranger's jaw ticked, like he wasn't happy with her answer and Clarke clenched her fist around the dagger concealed in her sleeve.

The grounder gave a disgruntled growl and pressed closer, his upper body leaning over the bar as he eyed Nyilah closely. " _Dula op yu get in weron em goes? ai gaf in gon get in (Do you know where she goes? I need to know)."_

Nyilah's eyes slid to the sketch of Clarke, still clutched in the man's fist, then back to his face. His eyes were slits of impatient anxiety.

" _Hashta?"_ She asked carefully. " _ste em gon bounty?" (Why? Is it the bounty?)_

Another growl rumbled in his chest, this one sounding angry, and Nyilah stepped back, eyeing him warily. _"Em ste nou klir!" (she is not safe!)_ He hissed, clutching the drawing tighter and pinning her with a look that was borderline manic.

He seemed – concerned. Deeply concerned, but Nyilah knew it could be a trick; there was just no way of knowing who could be trusted and so, she ere'd on the side of caution. _"Ai dula op nou get in. Em does nou tel op ai…" (I don't know. She does not tell me.)_

There was a sudden commotion outside and Nyilah threw a few hissed warnings to the man before she headed for the door and he hid himself in the shadows.

Three other rough – looking men entered – Azgeda bounty hunters – and they in turn, questioned Nyilah as to Clarke's whereabouts. She threw them off successfully by going so far as to invite them to have a look around her trading post to satisfy their curiosity.

A barely perceptible nod in Clarke's direction, was her only warning to Clarke and the blonde knew she had to get out as fast as she could.

There was no sign of the other grounder from what she could see and when Nyilah had the others distracted, Clarke slipped away in the direction of Nyilah's room.

" _hod in. chon ste hir?" (wait. Who is here?)_ The heavily bearded one of the group scanned the room with his eyes, sensing for others.

Clarke could feel her heartbeat quicken. _They know I'm here!_ But before she even reached the other room, large hands were grabbing her from behind – one covering her mouth while the other gripped her shoulder – and yanking her into the shadows. She would've screamed but the hand at her mouth was nearly gagging her so she only managed a light thrashing of her head before she was pinned against a very _hard_ body with a strong arm trapping her around the waste. The hand at her mouth shifted as the owner bowed his head over her shoulder to whisper in her ear. _"Shof op, ou emo will get in yu gon hir." (Be quiet, or they will know you are here.)_

Somehow, she knew it was _him –_ the grounder with her picture. She knew only enough _Trigedasleng_ to get by,but she'd managed to pick up enough words from his conversation with Nyilah: _'Do you know… woman… not safe.'_

She couldn't fathom how or why, but something told her this man didn't want to hurt her.

And with the way things stood now, it seemed he wanted to protect her – at least, from Azgeda bounty hunters. Then again, he could just be intending to capture her himself… but then if he'd already known it was her, wouldn't he have done that from the start?

There was rushed murmuring as words were exchanged between the three hunters and then, they were filing out the door with bundles of dried meat hoisted on their backs and a 'cheerful' Nyilah bidding them 'good luck on your hunt.'

When the door shut, Clarke's eyes slid closed and she sagged in relief.

She chose to disregard the arm around her waste that _squeezed_ her closer.

Nyilah appeared before them and shot one look to the man standing at Clarke's back. Something passed between them – a silent understanding – and Clarke could swear the _nod_ Nyilah sent him, signified trust.

"You can't stay here. Those bounty hunters _will be back._ I won't be able to hide you again." Her eyes were etched in worry and Clarke tried to offer a small smile of understanding. It came out like a grimace.

They stepped from the shadows and Nyilah hurried to fetch the meat Clark had brought. "I don't know where you plan to go…" She cast a furtive glance to the man standing behind Clarke, noting how his eyes followed the blonde's every move.

"I know. I – I just need to hide out for a bit, then I can move on."

A deep, gravelly voice rumbled near her ear, making Clarke jump and she turned startled eyes on her strange companion.

" _Yu gon nou klir"_ He rasped, eyes squarely on hers and piercing straight through her.

She was about to tell him she didn't understand, when Nyilah cut in. "He says you are not safe. He's right. You can't hide here. You need to go _now_."

"But I - it's pitch black out there. I can't see anything and I'm not a good tracker, I-"

Her mysterious rescuer surprised her yet again; taking a step closer, his piercing eyes captured her as he held out his hand.

" _Come glong op ai."_ He said.

There was a stretch of silence where her eyes flickered from his hand to his face, then to Nyilah, looking for an explanation.

Nyilah was a bit shell – shocked. This grounder… she had seen him before. He was _Azgeda,_ like those hunters, but the mark on the side of his neck, clearly branded him _Splita._ He was already taking a risk of being seen himself – yet for some reason, his intense interest was focused solely on Clarke and if the condition of that picture was anything to go by, Nyilah would hazard a guess he'd been looking for her for weeks, if not _months_.

Clearly, he didn't want to hurt her, he would have done that already.

There was another reason – one that was unclear to her; the only obvious element being that this man simply _wanted_ Clarke.

"He - he's telling you to come with him." She translated, cutting a curious look at the man before her eyes settled expectantly on Clarke.

In turn, Clarke was floored and she stared at him. "You – you want me to… Nyilah…?" Again, she sought her friend's guidance, but the other blonde shook her head in equal confusion.

" _Ai will shil op yu."_ He persisted, eyes flickering to Nyilah and signaling her to translate.

"…He says he will protect you."

There was a beat of silence as Clarke considered this. Then, facing this strange, captivating man head-on, she looked up into his eyes. "Your people hate me – they think – to them, I am _Wanheda._ You know what that means, don't you? Why then do you want to protect me?"

His eyes never wavered from hers, his expression growing earnest as he repeated the words: _"...Come glong op ai. Beja…"_

She recognized the last word he used and her heart skipped a beat.

' _Beja'_

' _Please'_

He was _pleading_ with her to go with him – to let him protect her, and though she knew nothing of this mysterious man or what he wanted of her, she couldn't deny the intense pull she felt towards him, nor the way her heart tightened painfully when he looked at her with _those eyes…_

She wanted to go with him. She didn't know why, hell, she could be walking straight to her death and her head was screaming at her to just _get a fucking grip already!_

Instead, she was giving him a nod and grabbing the extra satchel of food and water Nyilah had prepared, she was lead to the door, her hand in his.

They paused at the entrance and he checked to be certain the coast was clear, before he gently nudged her by the shoulder to go ahead of him.

Nyilah caught him by the arm and when his sharp eyes caught hers, she cautioned him:

" _Emo will nowe hod op lukin gon em…" (they will never stop looking for her…)_

He made no reply, only stared at her.

" _Chit will yu dula op? Taim emo hon daun em-" (What will you do? If they find her -)_

" _Emo cannot hav Hedafisa." (They cannot have Commander healer.)_ He cut her off sharply.

His eyes instinctively sought out Clarke who was crouched at the edge of the tree line, waiting for him, and he felt his body heat with a visceral possessiveness. His eyes cut to Nyilah a final time, glinting with a dangerous fire. _"…Em ste ain." (She is mine.)_ He murmured gravely, and then he disappeared into the night with _Fisa_ at his side.

 _/_

 _TBC…_


	5. Skaifisa & Roan of Azgeda

_Skaifisa & Roan of Azgeda_

 _/_

That first night was longer and more exhausting than any she had experienced in a long time.

They walked for hours without resting and though Clarke had been on her own for a few weeks now, her stamina was nowhere near that of her silent counterpart who continued on steadily ahead of her, not even breaking a sweat.

She was thankful he'd kept hold of her hand since they left the trading post, otherwise, she would've fallen behind.

But as midnight came and went, Clarke was at her limit and she dropped to one knee, her hand tugging free from his at the sudden stop.

Her companion halted and looked down at her, a question in his eyes, and Clarke shook her head apologetically. "I'm sorry - I just - I can't keep going like this. I'm tired. I know you are used to this but - I'm not. I need...I need j-just a little time..." She could feel the heaviness of sleep threatening to drag her under and she nearly succumbed when she felt herself being lifted off the ground.

"What...?" She glanced around a bit disoriented and nearly shrieked when she came face-to-face with her grounder - _literally._

She could feel his eyelashes fluttering against hers and their noses were touching. His breath fanned across her lips and she shuddered, not expecting it to smell of freshly harvested mint.

"... _What. Are you doing?"_ It came out more snippy than she'd intended but his closeness was so unnerving and overwhelming, she couldn't really think straight at all, much less temper her tone.

 _"yu souda rid op." (You should sleep.)_

Was his simple reply as he continued on, now carrying her in his arms bridal-style; he clearly had no qualms regarding their closeness and made no comment on it.

" _Ai laik hodin Yu bakon.." (I am holding you back…)_ She murmered regretfully.

This gave him pause and his head snapped to the side, staring at her.

Again, their faces were so close, she could feel his breath on her.

" _Nou. Yu wouda nou. Ai don dula nou get in Yu get in trigedasleng krei ena." (No. You would not. I didn't know you knew Trigedasleng so well.)_

For some reason, this had a hot blush creeping into her cheeks and she averted her eyes.

"… _Jos kik thru…" (… just to survive…)_

There was no smile on his stoic features, but his eyes seemed to sparkle when he looked at her and shook his head.

He seemed _amused._

Then it began to rain. It was only a light sprinkle, but soon enough it turned into a steady downpour and both Clarke and her grounder were drenched through.

He looked around – presumably for some shelter and she assumed he'd found what he was looking for, when he suddenly changed direction.

It took a bit more time as they'd reached an area where the underbrush had thickened. Great vines of ivy hung low on overhanging branches and the tree roots were gnarled and knotted together, making the path uneven and difficult to traverse in places. But her companion had no troubles it seemed and remained surefooted.

After hiking a mile in or so, they came upon a curtain of thorny brambles and more ivy tangled together that blocked their path. Her grounder moved slowly, taking care that the thorny vines were clear of her legs and feet, before he nudged them aside with his shoulder.

It looked to be a cave of some sort and once they were inside, Clarke squinted her eyes until they adjusted to the dim light, and looked around.

There was a small pile of what looked to be furs, in one corner, a tiny table with a crudely made bowl and cup and something that resembled a canteen – most likely for water.

The walls of the cave had been hallowed out in some places, like little cubbyholes , and held various supplies and trinkets – a few candles, tin cans that likely held herbs or some other sort of medicine, and an assortment of hunting knives.

It dawned on her that this tiny little cave was not only well hidden from the beaten path, but also well- _lived_ in.

The silent grounder carried her to the corner and carefully set her on the pile of furs.

" _Ste. Rid op." (Stay. Rest.)_ He rumbled gently, then stood and headed for the cave entrance.

When she realized he intended to leave here there, a sliver of panic crept up on her. "What? - w-wait!"

When he turned to see her reaching for him, her eyes laced with anxiety, he felt a heady satisfaction that she already depended on him and desired his nearness.

" _Ain frag op ste raun." (My kill is near by.)_ He raised a hand in reassurance, eyes focused on hers. " _Yu gon klir. Ai laik na tun ba gon yu." (You are safe. I will come back for you.)_

She still felt uneasy, but she trusted him to return so she forced herself to relax and nodded her head.

He nodded back and then disappeared from sight.

/

The minutes ticked by at a snail's pace. Clarke dozed on and off only to jerk awake with a start only minutes later. She knew she needed rest but with her grounder gone, she was restless and on edge.

His presence was calm and reassuring and she missed it. She knew it was ridiculous; she barely knew this man – not even his name – yet here she was pining away for his company, silent though it was and counting down the minutes to his return.

It was when she caught the steady lightening of darkness creeping in at the entrance of the cave, that she began to pace. Dawn was approaching, yet her companion had not returned and the minutes were turning to hours that dragged on endlessly. At sunrise, Clarke had had enough and against her better judgement, ventured outside in search of the missing grounder.

She did her best to pay attention to the trail and keep track of which way she went, but it was difficult when anxiety was building, causing her heart to race and the thoughts in her head inevitably turning to the worst case scenarios…

She didn't know how far she'd walked; maybe a half mile. There was the sound of water in the distance and before she knew it, she'd broken out into a clearing, her feet resting on the rocky shores of a small lake.

But it wasn't the beautiful scenery that caught her eyes, holding them captive; her grounder was several meters ahead, standing on shore with _four Azgeda bounty hunters_ surrounding him.

They all had brandished their weapons and seemed to be questioning him quite intensely – their voices were raised and their words clipped and impatient.

She froze, a familiar dread and panic flooding her when she recognized the words _'splita' (outcast),_ and _'Frag op hedplei' (kill order)._

That could only mean one thing: either Lexa had put a kill order out for him, like her, _or_ someone in Azgeda wanted him dead.

Either way, this was bad.

One of the Azgedan warriors prodded roughly at her grounder, with the hilt of his spear. He spoke gruffly, _"Wair ste wanheda?!"_

He looked back and forth between the two warriors who stood at his front. His eyes were shrewd and his expression gave away nothing as he lightly shook his head.

" _Ai nou get in."_

 _They were looking for_ _ **her**_ _._

" _Natrona!"_ One shouted who stood at his back, and struck him in the side of the head with the hilt of his knife.

Clarke gasped, eyes watering, as the grounder went down before one of the others jerked him to his knees by a handful of his hair. His face twisted in pain but he made no sound and simply stared down his assailants, unflinching.

" _Den Oso yu don nou gaf gon Yu en Yu na die laik bushhada!"_ The leader spat and with a look to his subordinate, a knife was raised to slit his throat.

" _No, stop, please!"_ Clarke revealed herself, holding up both hands to show she was unarmed, and stepped slowly towards the hunters.

She caught the eyes of her grounder and though his face remained neutral, his icy gaze was lit with fire and panic. _What are you doing?! You shouldn't be here!_ They seemed to scream, but she only subtly shook her head at him before turning her attention back to the Leader of the group.

" _Dula op nou laksen em…" (don't hurt him…)_ Nearing the group, she held up both hands in a show of non-aggression.

" _Hod in."_ The leader snapped and she stopped in her tracks. He looked her over – his eyes lingering on certain areas of her body, longer than necessary – before his harsh gaze swept up to her face. He approached her then and when he was only a foot away, he surprised her by speaking in _English._

"You are not Azgeda. Or Trikru. I don't know you so why should I spare his life?"

Wetting her lips, she glanced from her grounder who was all held captive, back to the Leader and chin held high, she answered, "Because I am the one you seek. I am Wanheda."

" _She lies."_

Clarke gasped in astonishment, for it was the voice of _her grounder_ that had uttered the words in her language; she stared at him wide-eyed.

"She is no one." He continued, scoffing, and the leader glanced at him, suspicious. "If she is _no one_ then why does the Azgedan _prince_ have her?"

Clarke's jaw dropped open. Did she hear that right? _Prince?!_

 _What in the royal fuck was going on here?_

Her grounder did not answer and the leader scoweled, dissatisfied.

"There is only one way to find out if you are indeed _Wanheda_ …if you lie, I will slit his throat _and_ yours." With that, he grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her into the water.

"You are filthy." He spat, grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking her head back sharply. She cried out in pain and it was then that her grounder's control snapped.

Grabbing his captor's hand that held the knife, he twisted the man's wrist, shattering the bone and the hunter cried out, dropping the knife into the water. He was on his feet just as the other two were coming at him and he used the disabled hunter as a human shield, forcibly shoving him in the path of his comrade's brandished spear. The sickening squelch of muscle and bone was heard as the hunter was impaled clean through, blood gushing from his mouth as he breathed his last.

His comrade was instantly at a disadvantage. With his spear lodged inside of the now-dead hunter, he had no time to reach for his sword, before the Azgedan prince unsheathed it and pivoted on the ball of his foot, decapitating him from behind.

Headless, the body fell, water splashing and staining red with blood as the prince crossed blades with his remaining assailant. This one was swifter on his feet than the others and his reflexes were sharper. His blade came down in a powerful ark, clashing with the prince's and they were locked in a temporary stalemate, both grunting and straining against the strength of the other as each fought for the upper hand.

Meanwhile, Clarke had been dragged by the hair into the water by the leader and when he saw each of his subordinates felled by the _splita's_ hand, he snarled, filled with rage.

"Taking the lives of my men?! Insolent fool! You have just cost your _precious_ woman hers!"

With a fistful of her hair, he plunged her head beneath the icy surface of the lake. Clarke struggled, thrashing and trying to claw at his hands as her mouth flooded with water. The panic set in; she could feel water rushing into her lungs and she was suffocating – _drowning._

Sensing Clarke was in peril, the grounder made quick work of his opponent, ducking a swipe of his blade and catching him in the thigh with his own sword, severing the femoral artery.

The hunter dropped, bleeding out in minutes and the grounder dropped the sword and dashed madly for his discarded bow and quiver. Taking them up, he slotted two arrows on the string and aimed for the leader's head. He loosed the arrows and they struck – one in the back of the head and one in the neck.

There was a wet rasping sound and then the last of the bounty hunters dropped dead – water and blood splashing and sloshing together.

He wasted no time and took off running for the water's edge, splashing into the lake. He didn't stop until he reached Clarke's prone figure which was frighteningly still, and hauling her into his arms, he pulled her from the water and laid her out on the shore on her back.

"Fisa, Fisa, wake up. Wake up, please." Frantically, he brushed the wet hair away from her face, shaking her and bent with his ear to her mouth.

She was barely breathing.

His hands began to shake as his eyes fell upon her lips which were slowly turning blue. Something occurred to him then and without a second's hesitation, he tilted her chin up, pinched her nose and covered her mouth with his, flooding it with his own breath. He pulled back, tilted his ear close to listen and then exhaled into her again. A third time. A fourth. By the seventh try, his entire body had begun to tremble as the beginnings of fear and devastation set in. After the eighth failed attempt, the Azgedan prince hesitated and dropped his forehead to hers, eyes screwed shut. He could feel his chest _burning_ as his heart was rent in two – but there was a sliver of hope yet and with one final breath, he covered her lips with his, whispered a prayer and exhaled.

The wet, cold body beneath him suddenly jerked, then convulsed as Clarke's sky blue eyes snapped open and she choked as huge amounts of water spewed from her mouth.

She couldn't catch her breath for several seconds and her eyes were round with fear. But then a face appeared above her and the most glacial eyes she'd ever seen were boring straight into hers. A rough, gravelly voice was murmuring something but she couldn't hear above the ruckus of her own coughing, yet her eyes welled with tears of relief all the same.

She knew that voice, it was safety and _home._

When the hacking coughs had ceased, she felt two large, callused hands grip her face and she was brought eye-to-eye and nose-to-nose with her grounder who now bore an expression of a very different kind.

"What. Were you thinking?! You were to _stay_ in the cave. I _told you to stay."_ He ground out and she gulped, sensing the fire in his tone.

"I _did_ wait. But you were gone. For _hours._ You said your kill was nearby, I knew something had happened-"

His hands tightened on her, jerking her face even closer to his. "That does not matter." He cut in sharply. His eyes were like sharp glacial pools as they looked back and forth between her own, piercing her with an indisputable look that had her heart pinned to her spine. "When I say 'wait' or 'stay' you _will obey me._ There is no room for negotiating."

She knew his assumption of control over her, Should've pissed her off…but it left her feeling intensely warm and wickedly thrilled instead.

 _What the fuck was happening to her?_

"I was worried." She admitted, choosing not to go anymore in depth than that, when his head cocked to the side and his eyes heated intensely.

His touch on her skin was hot and overwhelming in so many ways, yet she couldn't bring herself to pull away - she'd been alone, and cold for so long it seemed, she _ached_ for nearness and warmth. But she was quickly realizing that not just _any warmth_ would do…

Her grounder was mysterious, captivating and mostly silent, yet she was being pulled into his web of intrigue again and again, to the point where she found herself incurably addicted.

He had lifted her into his arms and they were again making the trek back to their cozy, hidden cave.

 _Their_ cave?

Clarke shook her head. These thoughts were dangerous, she had to be rid of them quickly before she was in way over her head.

They had reached the entrance and again, he was careful that none of the thorns hurt her legs or feet as he nudged the brambles aside and ducked indoors.

Again, he deposited her on the pile of furs in the corner, but this time, he fixed her with a pointed glare and commanded, "Stay" before he set about starting a fire.

Once a small stack of wood and dry underbrush was arranged, he took a piece of flint in his hand and struck it together, lighting a spark that set the kindling aflame.

She marveled at the quickness of his skill. "When we took Earth Skills, it took me fifteen times before I got the flint to spark enough for a fire…" She murmured in disbelief, only realizing she'd spoken aloud when she caught his eyes staring intensely at her from across the fire.

She squirmed a bit, unsure if the heat that always lurked in his icy blue depths, was anger… or something else.

Something occurred to her and she raised her eyes to his. "Why didn't you tell me you spoke English?"

"You never asked."

"You lead me to believe you couldn't; you spoke strictly Trigedasleng, until just this morning.

He didn't answer for a long moment and when she'd given up hope that he would and turned away, his dark, rasping voice surprised her.

"I had to be certain I could trust you. You may have done away with the Mountain men – our enemy – but I couldn't be certain you meant us no harm, until I'd spoken to you myself; my eyes are sharp but they only tell me so much of one's story."

Her eyes snapped to his. "Your eyes can – What do you mean by that?"

The man cursed inwardly; he never meant for her to know he'd been watching her for months… but he'd already said too much as it is and with that sharp, intuitive mind of hers, he knew she'd figure it out before long.

"Are you saying you've been _watching_ me?"

He actually smirked a little at that. Well that didn't take long…

Standing to his feet, he faced her, knowing he'd have to tread this next part carefully, or she'd scare off which was the last thing he wanted. He'd spent so long watching her from a distance, making certain she was safe and vowing to do all in his power to protect her…

Now, she was finally _here_ with him, at last. He had no intentions of letting her go so easily.

"Word of the great _Skaifisa_ spread quickly amongst my people. Even after I was banished, there was not a village or trading post I went to, where I did not hear the name _Skaifisa_ and how she fought to heal the people of every kru, not just her own."

"…Skaifisa…?" She asked.

He nodded, smirking lightly when he explained, "It means 'Sky healer.'"

He watched as her lips parted in surprise and he shook his head, stirring the fire. "You were not just _Wanheda;_ many may know you to be a woman who will kill for her people but… _I_ know that deep down, killing is not in your heart. Your desire is to _heal_ not harm. It is the first thing I learned about you when I first saw you, and it is only one of the many reasons why I admire and respect you."

When his eyes returned to her, he was startled to find silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she stared at him in awe.

He stood to his feet and his eyes darkened in concern. "What's wrong?"

When she blinked owlishly, she noted the wetness on her cheeks and flushed red, furiously wiping them away. "Uh sorry, I didn't realize I was…"

"…Did I upset you?" he asked hesitantly but she shook her head vigorously, smiling a little when she looked back at him.

"No, not at all – Uh the exact opposite actually." When he tilted his head at her, frowning curiously, she continued.

"It's just that I've only ever heard _Wanheda_ when anyone from any kru, referred to me… and the way they make it sound is like… like I'm this brave, cold-blooded warrior princess, and I just – I didn't like being famous for something like genocide. Maybe it had to be done. Probably. But I don't think taking a life – innocent lives – is something we should be proud of. There were more people in that mountain bunker, than just the Mountain men…" when she looked up and saw him watching her intently, she blushed again and rolled her lips together. "…sorry, I- here I am talking about _innocent_ lives, when they've been stealing your people and murdering them…"

She felt stupid but his response surprised her. "That is true. But as you said, there were more than just the men. Children, who I doubt knew anything of the atrocities their parents were committing. _They_ were innocent, they couldn't have known any better."

She nodded, yet feeling that familiar pang of overwhelming guilt, she couldn't quite suppress the string of tears that always came after.

"Yeah, you're right." She whispered, crossing one arm and dropping her chin in the open palm of the other as she slowly paced. "They _couldn't_ have known anything about it…and I killed them anyway, too."

His gut wrenched painfully at her words and more tears flooded her eyes.

"…now I _have_ upset you." He muttered regretfully, yet for some reason, this only caused Clarke to snort softly, before she felt his hand on her arm.

"Skaifisa…" he whispered soothingly and turned her to face him. She shook her head as her eyes welled with tears and eventually, she gave up and covered her face with her hand.

He pulled her into a strong embrace and was happy when she finally allowed herself to dissolve into tears in his arms; she was always so impossibly strong, fearing her own weakness and he knew there weren't many whom she trusted with her vulnerability.

Maybe, not _anyone_.

Except for him.

"You do not always have to be so strong, Skaifisa – not with me." He urged, smoothing a hand down her golden tresses which had begun to dry as a result of the fire's warmth.

He had to admit, he'd _missed_ her lovely blonde locks and was pleased to see her hair devoid of that devil awful red.

She stifled sob against his chest and he gently hushed her, whispering soothing words to her in _Azgedasleng,_ his native dialect:

" _Yu gon klir, ain skaifisa…" (You are safe, my Sky healer)_

He whispered against her temple and when he felt her body pressing closer against his, he held her tighter, tangling his fingers into her hair as he whispered against her forehead, _"Ai laik hir glong op yu…" (I am here with you…)_

The deep, rumbling timber of his voice, vibrated through her and a thrill shot up her spine.

He had been watching over her for months, _caring_ for her from a distance and she hadn't even known… now that she was in his presence, _near_ him, _knowing_ him, she couldn't quell her growing desire to know everything about him and oddly, that thought didn't frighten her as it would have, three weeks ago. She had left Arkadia with the intent to be alone; she felt it was best to keep those she loved, away and therefore _safe._ Yet here was this man, this stranger, who had been steadily at her side through the most horrific moments of her life and at her lowest point, he'd risked himself by offering her his hand – without a second thought.

Maybe she didn't _have_ to make it alone after all.

"What is your name?" She suddenly asked. She felt his chin shift on the crown of her head as they both simultaneously pulled back to meet each other's eyes.

"My name doesn't have much meaning now, unfortunately; I am nothing but _splita-_ "

But she was shaking her head, her fingers curling into the heavy lather of his jacket, unknowing. "No, I don't care about that. That's not what you are to _me._ Please. Tell me your name?"

Her eyes were so honest and beseeching, as they gazed up into his, nearly-pleading; he knew then, he would _never_ be able to refuse that look. Or her.

So fixing his eyes on her, unflinching, he answered, "Roan. Roan of Azgeda."

Something flickered in her eyes then – something that looked like ardent _admiration –_ and he felt his heart skyrocket and his blood raced hot in his veins.

"…Roan of Azgeda, _my_ name is Clarke Griffin of _Skaikru_." She responded softly and a thrill shot through him when the syllables of her _given name_ fell on his ears.

"Then it is a pleasure to meet you…Clarke Griffin." He answered back with a grin and Clarke truly smiled then, red cheeks and all.


	6. Shut Me Out

They rested in the cave for a week and a half before they moved on. Roan stated that even with the _Azgedan_ bounty hunters dead, others would know of his whereabouts soon enough; it was best for their safety to keep moving until they'd reached the _splita_ base camp, furthest North.

"But isn't Azgeda North?" she'd asked one afternoon as they trekked through a field of waist – high grass.

He glanced over his shoulder – brows furrowing and reaching out his hand when he noted she was a bit slow to keep up.

She took it, giving his fingers a light squeeze in thanks.

He faced forward again and replied, "Yes, but _splita_ are further – You probably haven't heard of the Land of Cliffs?"

When she shook her head, he nodded and explained. "It's located high up in the mountains, in what I think your people used to call Montana. Most _splita_ gather there as it's the most isolated and _unclaimed_ territory; there are no kru, no _heda_ , just us."

She contemplated his words for a time and felt a sort of tingling excitement at the prospect of being taken to _his_ home—it felt like a new milestone was about to be reached in their…

 _What exactly_ _ **were**_ _they anyway?_

Come to think of it, whatever this _thing_ was between her and Roan, hadn't been defined really, at all. He said he'd been watching over her for months and he'd asked her to go with him that he might protect her… but _then what?_ Was that all this was? Was he simply taking her to his home out of a sense of duty to her safety, or as there something more as to why he was doing all of this?

Her countenance overshadowed with a frown as she realized that she'd already gotten way ahead of herself in this, when she'd been trying so hard _not_ to.

Clearly, her efforts were a bust and she cursed inwardly.

 _He's most likely just 'dropping me off' somewhere safe; he doesn't owe me anything more, yet here I am building up stupid fantasies in my head!_

She felt the sharp sting of disappointment but didn't have long to contemplate it before a thunderstorm was rolling in and they were seeking shelter.

They sighted a thick grove of trees and upon further investigation, discovered the remains of an old run down shack at the heart of it. It had held up to Earth's elements fairly well, considering and Roan deemed it suitable to house them for the night.

Once they were settled and Roan had reinforced their shelter to better withstand the approaching storm, he set out to find food for their evening meal.

With his bow, quiver and hunting knife in hand he headed for the door, the rain having let up just slightly. " _You._ _ **Stay put.**_ " He ordered, pointing at her with the hilt of his knife. The warning flint 6 in his eyes was somehow comical and she couldn't help but roll her eyes and laugh softly through her nose. "Yes _dear._ " She sassed and his look only sharpened. "I _mean it_ , woman. You better be here when I get back."

At this, she actually threw her head back and _laughed_ outright, for the first time in months. "Just go already, will you?" She made a shooing gesture with her hand, still snickering even after the door had fallen shut behind him.

/

When he returned, he was bleeding from his shoulder, wild-eyed and on edge.

She didn't even glance at the deer he dropped from his back near the fire, rushing to his side and hands flitting over him anxiously.

"Roan!"

He silenced her with a hand. "A small group of bandits, that's all it was." But he allowed her to fuss over him anyways as she lead him to sit by the fire.

She helped him with his heat fur tunic and then allowed him to finish stripping out of his leather jacket, as she hurried to put water in. Walking to the other side of the room, she bent to where she kept her medic pack and when she turned, her blue eyes widened in horror.

Roan was shirtless and raising the heated tip of his hunting knife to cauterize the stab wound; he'd likely done this countless times before and while it would get the job done, it was highly unsanitary!

"Don't!" she dashed to his side, catching his wrist just before the glowing red blade touched his skin.

Glacial orbs cut to oceanic pools.

"You don't need to do that, I can help."

She expected him to relent immediately, yet was immensely confused when he kept his hold on the knife and stared deeply in her eyes. His look was piercing and _searching_ and it dawned on her that there was likely a part of him that still did not trust her, regardless of how kind and caring he had been towards her since the beginning.

Lessening the pressure of her fingers on his wrist, she held up her free hand in a show of non-aggression. "I promise the _last_ thing I want to do is hurt you. And I will explain everything that I am doing to you, as I do it. Alright?"

 _Everything I'm doing to you…_

Roan knew she hadn't meant for her words to come out like _that,_ but it was too late as his mind had already misconstrued their meaning and was now conjuring up very _tempting_ images of _exactly_ what she could be doing to him… what he'd _much rather have her doing…_

The Azgedan prince firmly dispelled those thoughts – _now is not the time_ , he knew. She was lovely and _more enticing_ than he could've ever imagined, yet there were much more pressing matters at hand and he needed to refocus before he got himself into some serious trouble.

"Alright." He simply replied, and she got to work. First, she cleansed his wound thoroughly with water and then with something she called _'antiseptic'_ which she explained would sting but would keep his wound from getting infected.

It did sting. Like a bitch, but he was no stranger to pain and only winced.

Next, she stitched the wound closed, explaining each step as she did so, until she was knotting off the end and prepping a bandage to cover it.

"This will just keep anything from getting in and irritating it. I won't bandage it too thickly though, so it can breathe."

From where he sat on the tall chair they'd found, Roan was roughly just about eye-level with Clarke and he had a prime view of her features, up close.

She had a light dusting of feckless down the bridge of her nose and one tiny little beauty mark above her lip on the right.

Her skin was just slightly tanned since her exposure to Earth's sun, but it was clear and flawless in a way that had his hands itching to reach out and touch her.

Was she just as soft and supple as she looked? What about the other parts of her that he _couldn't_ see…? Were they smooth like silk? What would her lips feel like? _Just her lips,_ he wondered?

 _Damn it._ He had gone into full-fledged _lustville_ and he wasn't at all confident he had the presence of mind to backtrack.

She was so close right now and so fucking distracting, he was gritting his teeth and clenching his fists just to keep himself from _leaning_ too close!

Then her hands were suddenly on him as she carefully pressed the bandage to his shoulder.

Her fingers were gentle, soft and warm.

 _Fuck._

"Just be careful and try not to jostle your shoulder too much. Other than that though, you should-"

She had collected her medic pack and was turning away from him, when he was suddenly on his feet, long fingers snagging her wrist and _towering_ over her. She inhaled sharply, startled by the sudden movement but there was no time to recover when she found herself nose-to-nose with him and his glacial orbs fiercely penetrating her.

She gulped.

"…R-Roan? Are you okay…?" She asked hesitantly.

"No." was the deep, gravelly reply, but his voice held something else that she hadn't detected before—there was a ragged quality to it and his features were etched in restraint…like he was consciously holding himself back.

"Roan, are you hurt anywhere else?" the hand he held reached toward him and his grip tightened almost painfully.

" _Don't."_ he warned and she a sliver of hurt at the guarded look in his eyes.

"You don't trust me not to hurt you."

But he shook his head, further confusing her. "No, your wrong. But you still shouldn't touch me so willingly." He dropped her hands and stepped away from her, only further cementing the deep-seeded disappointment that had begun to settle and instinctively, her arms tied at her waist protectively. "If you trust me, then I don't understand."

His back facing her and she had to strain in order to hear his quiet reply. "I'm nothing but a man, Clarke… and you are an enticing woman. Which is dangerous." He paused, as if waiting for his words to sink in. Then, a bit more firmly, "It's better that way. _Rid op nou._ " _(Sleep, now.)_ He walked to the makeshift bed of furs in the corner and no more was said.His parting words left Clarke feeling oddly empty. On one hand, she knew his comment about her being 'enticing' should've flattered her, but for some reason, it had her feeling the opposite; shut out.

' _Its better that way '_ these words hurt most of all for she'd used them herself many a time and sadly, knew only too well, what they meant.

That night, after Roan had fallen asleep, she took a blanket from her pack, curled up alone by the fire and cried herself to sleep.

/

The following morning was tense and awkward; Roan spoke little as usual but _she_ grew reticent, speaking only when necessary and responding to him only when it was required.

He took notice of course, but didn't comment until the third day when she'd lost her footing and _refused_ his hand when he offered to help her up.

She dusted herself off—avoiding his eyes altogether—and walked passed him without a word.

He'd had enough of her cold shoulder and when they stopped for a rest, he was thoroughly _pissed off._

She'd gone off in search of water when he'd attempted to speak with her and throwing his knife to the ground in frustration, he went after her.

When he found her, she was kneeling at the edge of a river, splashing her face. Planting his feet no more than a meter away, he waited for her to notice him. "Are you going to continue ignoring me? or tell me what is wrong with you."

She scooped up more water to splash her neck before dropping her hands to her thighs and pushing back to sit on her heels.

She still wouldn't look at him. "I don't know what you want me to say."

He crossed his arms. "Try starting with why you are so angry with me."

She shook her head. "I'm not angry-"

His face twisted in anger. "bullshit." He spat and her head swung around to stare at him.

"What – What do you _want_ me to say then, Roan?! Because you… you clearly have some issue with me and you distanced yourself so -" she gestured at him, then looked away.

" _You_ are the one distancing yourself, Clarke." He shot back. "You haven't said hardly anything to me -"

She jumped to her feet, whirling on him angrily, "Because _you_ pushed me away! When you go off and tell me that I - shouldn't 'touch' you, that I'm 'dangerous' and it's better that way?! What am I suppose-"

His eyes rounded in shock and he stalked at her angrily. "You think I was _shutting you out?_ I was protecting you! Don't just assume something when you don't even know -"

But she cut him off. " _Assume?!_ I fucking _invented that!_ 'It's better that way '? You don't think I've used that a thousand times!? That's what _everyone_ says. You say it to keep everyone away from you because it works. It _hurts_ and that's why every damn time, it's the one thing we fall back on. I'm not stupid, Roan; I know when I'm being shut out so just…" she was feeling the burn of angry tears and she turned her back on him. "… just don't. Don't explain because I don't need your explanation."

There was a long, drawn out silence and then the words, 'Are you done?' Were bit out through clenched teeth.

She didn't respond.

"Good. Because I'm not finished." Again, she turned to see him towering over her, only this time he clearly made it a point to keep a distance between them as he glared down at her coldly. "You don't know me, nor do you know what I'm thinking or what I want. You may be smart but that doesn't give you the right to assume you know what my motives are, so get off your damn high horse. I don't waste time on things I don't want and you don't get to decide my feelings either." He finished angrily. With nothing more to say, he spun on his heel and stalked off, leaving Clarke bereft, confused and utterly ashamed.

 _TBC…_

/


	7. Yours Are The Sweetest Eyes

/

The rest of the day, they did not speak and the day following, was the same. On the third night, however, Clarke was weary of the silence between them and her loneliness drove her to want to make amends.

Yet one look at Roan, had her bolstering courage, sniffing out like a light; the sharp tick in his jaw clearly screamed he was still very much upset so she decided it was best to steer clear of him and grudgingly settled to sleep on the _far_ side of the campfire that night. They'd found shelter amongst a cluster of boulders – one of which had about a three and a half foot overhang that provided shelter overhead – and once the fire was down to just embers, Clarke wrapped herself in a fur blanket and tried to sleep.

It wasn't long before the nightmares set in. She was always haunted with the memories of Mount Weather, but when one of the victim's faces morphed into _Roan's_ irradiated flesh and lifeless eyes, Clarke shot up in bed, sweating and screaming. The screaming wouldn't stop and soon, she'd worked herself into hyperventilating and hysterical sobs that wracked her body until suddenly, Roan was in her face, cradling her cheeks and nearly _shouting_ at her to breathe.

It was only then that she realized her throat had closed up and she literally _couldn't,_ before her nails dug into his shoulders for purchase.

She was _SO_ hysterical, he knew his voice wasn't getting through to her and exceedingly worried she would pass out at any moment, he squeezed her face between his hands and pulled her so they were forehead-to-forehead, nose-to-nose and nearly mouth-to-mouth. He exhaled into her space, then inhaled while pressing his nose against hers hoping it would encourage her to do the same.

It did. She felt the exhale of his breath through his nose, to hers and at last, her eyes opened and focused on his.

"That's it. Just _breathe_ with me, Clarke." He coaxed soothingly and continued to inhale and exhale with his forehead and nose pressed to hers. Eventually, they were breathing in perfect sync – in through the nose, hold for three seconds, then out through the mouth.

Her fingers uncurled from his shoulders but her hands remained in place and finally, she offered him a slight nod. She was okay.

"Waking to your screams, is more terrifying than death." He admitted a bit unsteady. His thumbs caressed the underside of her eyes and along her cheekbones and for the first time in days, they met each other's eyes. "What were you dreaming about?" he asked quietly, his deep, gravelly voice sending shivers up her spine.

"Mount Weather. I always see their faces – Just like they were on that day. Blistered, b-burned flesh and dead eyes. But this time, I saw – "

She bit her lip, ducking her head but he caught her chin and forced her to look at him squarely. "Tell me."

"…I saw _your_ face. You were there. And you were dead, just like the rest of them." A tear escaped, tracking down her cheek but he caught it with his thumb and flicked it away. " _Skaifisa, ai laik hir." (I'm right here.)_

"I know, b-but-" her lip quivered and he bowed his face over hers, lips nearly grazing. " _Yu gon ain hosa." (You are my home.)_ He declared firmly and though she couldn't decipher every word, something about them and the _look_ in his eyes, made her heart stop. "…Please… tell me what that means?" her voice was a fragile whisper like she was afraid to shatter this moment if she spoke any louder – only her hands clung to him in a death-like grip.

His eyes were cemented in the recesses of hers when his dark voice rumbled, "I think you _know_ what it means. Clarke, When I told you, you were enticing and that it was dangerous, I didn't mean it in the sense of pushing you away. I meant it as a warning to you – and to myself – that there was a very high probability that I wouldn't be able to keep myself away from you for very long. When I told you not to touch me, it was meant as a caution to you; I - _can't_ promise that I will always be in control of myself when it comes to you."

She looked back and forth between his eyes. "…Why do you feel like you're losing control? I guess I don't really understand -"

His eyes narrowed on her. "Because _ai gaf in yu._ I _want_ you. If you seriously haven't figured that out yet, then you are incredibly stupid." He declared bluntly. Clarke was left blushing _furiously_ with nothing to say.

Observing her reaction, he cocked his head to the side, scrutinized her and clicked his tongue. "So I actually have to spell this out for you, then. I told you before that I don't waste time on things I _don't_ want. When I first saw you, you had gone to strike a deal with Lexa, to save your people and you made it out _alive_. No one challenges _heinheda_ and those who have, were executed on the spot. Not you. You dared to defy her and she respected you for your bravery. I had never seen anything – _anyone_ – like you before, Clarke kom _skaikru_ – and I have wanted you from that moment till now."

Clarke was _breathless,_ and with Roan so close - his breath and heady scent invading her space, and filling her with nothing but him, her body moved mindlessly and she pressed trembling lips to his mouth in a feverish kiss that set her skin on fire. Whatever courage had overcome her, lasted all of 3 seconds before her mind slammed back into consciousness, and she was reeling back from him as if burned.

What she hadn't realized was that Roan's warning of 'don't touch' had not been the least bit understated or carelessly bestowed.

But it was too late and the Azgedan warrior proved this by rolling onto his haunches and advancing on her with all the deadly grace of a panther who stalks it's prey.

She was flat on her butt and backing away from him but there was nowhere to go as her back hit solid rock and there he was – icy blue eyes melting into a molten flame as his arms boxed her in on both sides.

Like a lamb before the slaughter, Clarke sat with her back against the wall, helpless as her Azgedan prince wedged a knee between her legs, forcing himself further into her space. He was practically _pinning_ her to the wall and floor – his powerful body folded over hers like a panther or leopard would, just before they spring for the kill.

 _And O, spring he did._

" _That,_ was your mistake." He growled, just before he claimed her lips in an open-mouthed kiss. He was not gentle, nor was his mouth patient, but savage as he wasted no time in forcefully parting her lips with his tongue and diving in for a taste. His muscle was persistent and invasive as it swept over her palate and then dove down to tangle with hers.

She tried to evade him but he gave her no ground and growing frustrated with her resistance, he caught her retreating tongue between his teeth, drew it into his mouth, and suckled long and languorous.

The raw salacity of his kiss left her shaken and trembling, yet even the tremors in her body would not bring him to relent – though in truth, she was equal parts overtaken, _as well as_ wanting more; his kiss was brutal, frightening, but addicting.

Unfortunately, _air_ as it happens, is a vital necessity whether you reside in space or on Earth, and it is this necessity that supersedes that of his kiss; she breaks away and manages a ragged inhale before his savage, _delicious_ mouth, latches onto her throat, sucking _hard._

She knows she's bruised instantly, without even having to look, but doesn't have time to berate him because his face fills her vision again – his eyes a predatory glint – and his hand hooks behind her knee and he drags her down to the forest floor.

There is a thin blanket beneath her – beneath _them –_ but it won't matter; when her head hits the ground in a soft _THUD,_ her hair rumble tumbles over her shoulders and spreads around her head like a golden halo.

She'll have leaves, dirt and twigs tangled together with her curls, by morning.

Again, his mouth finds hers – this time, his tongue begs entrance seconds _before_ his lips even reach hers, and again, she is overwhelmed by the feral savagery in his touch.

He licks along her gum line – long, deep strokes – and then his tongue slides along her palate, seeking hers.

Eventually, it is too much and a high-pitched moan escapes her which only spurs on Roan's passion; wedging a strong thigh between her knees, he grinds it upwards, into the throbbing _ache_ between her thighs, while simultaneously grinding his hips downwards to undulate against hers.

The friction is criminal and he groans into her mouth, long and loud.

"Do you feel this?" He gasps against her, eyes scorching her with a look that could burn her clothes straight off without ever lighting a match.

" _This…_ is only a tenth… of how _bad_ … I want you." He rumbles darkly. His hands are scraping up her sides now, taking the hem of her shirt a little higher with each pass, until her shirt is bunched up to the edge of her very thread-bare Ark issue sports bra.

She can feel the cool night air nipping at the underside of her breasts through the thin fabric, then something _hot_ and rough slips beneath it, cupping her full mound and she's gasping in shock, realizing it's his hand.

"Gyyyah! _Roan! St-stop!"_

His eyes are less than an inch from hers when he mutters a fierce, "No." giving her breast another firm _squeeze,_ in answer while never breaking his gaze.

A heavy blush creeps up her neck all the way to her hairline and she bites her lip, tearing her eyes away.

"…You act as if I am the only man who has ever touched you."

A hesitant flick of her eyes, confirms it and Roan is actually surprised. Pushing up on his forearms, his gaze settles upon her for a long moment, glacial eyes closely scrutinizing her.

When she offers no further indication, his lips part in a genuine smile that Clarke finds charming and breathtaking.

"Then you have pleased me even more." And he bowed to kiss her – his lips persistent yet this time, sweeter against hers. "Do you understand it now?" he whispers heatedly against her lips and she nods softly, meeting his mouth with hers as her arms tangle around his neck.

When he pulls away, she is gazing up at him, her eyes searching every inch of his face as if to memorize it.

"What?" He murmurs, head tilting in question.

Her hands slide around to his shoulders and then one lifts to rest against his jawline. Her fingers trace a line to his temple and then caress underneath his eyes and her lips part on a soft exhale. "It's just your eyes - they're beautiful."

 _Fin_

/

So I think _maybe_ this is it for this multi chap drabble. I might do one more chapter for this one? Not sure yet but I'm thinking about moving onto the next drabble which would be the Roan/Bellamy/Clarke triangle. Not sure, you'll all just have to put in your votes! ;)


	8. You Are My People

A/N: This is the next independent vignette; this will feature a requested Clarke/Roan/Bellamy triangle (just to be clear, this is NOT A THREESOME!) And will take place some time after season 3 ep 4 – Watch The Throne, which is when Pike was elected chancellor. Now it will be cannon divergent in the sense that Clarke has already been reunited with her family and friends but she chooses to stay in Polis in order to maintain the Coalition. I _may_ write a TBC for this one but let me know what you all think first, if you even want a sequel.

Established Roan/Clarke friendship.

/

After news of the newly-elected chancellor reached Polis, Clarke decided it was time to return to _Arkadia_ for an extended period to oversee the new change in command.

She felt uneasy; some of the rumors she'd heard regarding the new chancellor, were not favorable and she was concerned what it could mean for the Coalition. Word was that the new chancellor was a very _reluctant_ participant in the treaty between _Skaikru_ and the Grounders – this was unsettling to say the least as there was no way of knowing what Pike had planned regarding the Coalition.

With Roan at her side as the representative for the _Commander,_ the two set out for _Arkadia_ at dawn, on horseback. By late afternoon, they were moving through the forest, when idle chatter turned to a more serious topic.

"What exactlyis your relationship with that friend of yours, anyway?"

Clarke glanced over at Roan, quirking a brow. "What? I have many friends, Roan. You're going to need to be more specific."

"The boy. The one whose life you begged me for."

"Oh, you mean Bellamy."

He nodded once, coaxing his stallion to ride up next to Clarke as he waited for the blonde's answer.

"Well we were among the first to be sent to the Ground. There were just 100 kids and none of us really had a clue on how to survive – Bellamy kept us all together, he saved us and…"

"And you kept him in line."

She cut a look of surprise to him and was astonished to find the _Azgedan_ prince, actually smirking.

"Are you _teasing_ me, Roan?" She asked in disbelief.

He shrugged. "Maybe." Then, he actually leveled her with a look she had never seen on him before, and his tone dropped to slightly – suggestive as he said, "Or maybe I'm just flirting with you because I can."

Her jaw dropped and she huffed a laugh. "I didn't – even think Grounders understood what 'flirting' meant…" she trailed off, feeling the traitorous heat creeping into her cheeks and was eager for a subject change.

"No; you _Skaikru_ just have no presence of mind to recognize when you're being flirted with." He shot back challengingly.

"Excuse me?"

They came up to a small stream and Roan dismounted to refill his canteen. "You are intelligent, _wanheda_ , but you are oblivious when it comes to matters of the heart. You haven't even recognized that – _Bellamy_ has had eyes only for you, for who knows how long."

Clarke was sputtering at this point and gaped down at him from where she was still mounted. "You – You must be out of your mind, Roan -"

"I'm a _man_ Clarke, just like he is; I know." He was still crouched at the stream's edge and cupped some water into his hand to splash his face.

"…I guess I hadn't even considered that anyone would see me like that, much less Bellamy…"

Standing to his feet, he turned and stared at her in confusion. "Why? Is that really so hard to believe?"

"Yes, honestly… it is."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment and then Roan shook his head and walked to her, retrieving her canteen from where it was strapped to the saddle.

Returning to the water's edge, he bent to refill it.

"What makes you so sure you know what he's feeling, anyways?"

The stoic _Azgedan_ warrior was silent as he screwed the lid on her canteen – his eyes were pensive and staring off into the water as if his mind was far away. "Because it's in his eyes." He said at last, gravelly voice startling Clarke momentarily as he stood and walked to her. "He looks at you as if he – owns you." He took a deep breath before speaking the last part and Clarke noticed the way his jaw tensed when the words tumbled forth.

He was eye-level with her waist as he secured the canteen in her pack, and she couldn't hold back the words that burned at the tip of her tongue. "You say that like it bothers you."

His sharp blue eyes snapped up to hers and she bit her lip.

"…Maybe it does." He rumbled quietly and she only registered his hand on her knee, when he gave it a firm squeeze, before dropping his hand once more and turning away from her. "If we hope to make it before dark, we need to move now."

He mounted and again, they set out towards _Arkadia_ only this time, Clarke's stomach fluttered nervously for more reasons than the uncertain motives of a new chancellor.

/

The moment they reached _Arkadia,_ Clarke knew something was wrong. The gates were heavily fortified and every guard tower had not one, but _three_ guards posted with brandished weapons; she didn't recognize them and had to assume they were Pike's people from Farm Station.

"I'm here to see Chancellor Pike." Clarke called and at a signal, the gates were opened. They were met with _more_ heavily armed guards but at the sight of Bellamy's familiar face, she relaxed somewhat.

"Clarke, you shouldn't be here."

He didn't sound happy to see her and his face was drawn from exhaustion and harsh.

The dread began to seep through and she eyed her long-time partner warily. "we heard there was a new chancellor elected."

Bellamy's eyes were on Roan however and the displeasure on his countenance, grew. "Yeah. What's _he_ doing here?"

"Roan's Lexa's representative, Bellamy, you know that. He's here on behalf of the Coalition -"

"Things have changed, Clarke." He eyed the _Azgedan_ prince with blatant disdain, but Roan's gaze did not waver. He would not be intimidated, regardless of the automatic rifle Bellamy had slung over his shoulder.

"Bell…what's wrong? You don't seem like yourself -"

Just then, Pike himself approached accompanied by heavily armed men. "Clarke? It's good to see you back. You're here to stay?"

Clarke straightened on her horse, hands resting on her thighs close to where her dagger was strapped to her hip – she had a bad feeling about this.

"I'm only hear to make sure the terms of the Coalition, are maintained. We fought hard for the peace that we have with the Grounders, and I don't want to see that -"

The black man sighed heavily. "Clarke, you misunderstand. This isn't the same _Arkadia_ that Kane and your mother were in charge of; I'm chancellor and it's my responsibility to keep _our_ people safe. So far, it is because of the foolish trust you place in these savages," his eyes flickered pointedly to Roan and Clarke felt the angry bile rising in her throat. "That we are here in the first place!"

"The grounders who attacked your people are not with the Coalition, Pike; Lexa knows of what happened and she is as angered as we all are."

"Your _commander_ may not have known them but _he_ does. They were _his_ people after all." Pike spat, gesturing to Roan who had been still and silent throughout the entire exchange. But Clarke knew he was sharp and alert; she could feel the strong tension rolling off of her companion and instinctively, she'd coaxed her horse forward and in front of Roan, protecting him from any physical hostility.

" _Azgeda_ does not own me anymore." Was all the prince said and Clarke hastened to back up his claim. "Roan's telling the truth. He's _splita_ , outcast and has nothing to do with _Azgeda._ His own mother has a kill order out on him but Lexa has offered him sanctuary in exchange for his loyalty."

"My _sympathies_ , but this has nothing to do with us. I am protecting _my_ people and therefore, I will have no part in this farse of a Coalition."

They were at a deadlock and with how the armed men responded to Pikes declaration with tightened grips on their weapons, she knew they were in danger of being on the brink of another war.

"You should not have brought him here, Miss Griffin."

"Fine. Then he'll return to Polis right away and I'll stay alone -"

"Oh no, I'm sorry. But I can't allow him to leave and report on us to his commander. If we hope to move on the Grounders then we must have the element of surprise."

Clarke's eyes widened in horror and she shook her head. "You can't seriously intend to start another war?! you'll condemn us all to death! They won't lay down and let you take their land – their homes!"

"That is why we cannot afford to let _him_ go, or he'll warn them."

"But -!"

But the chancellor would not be reasoned with and with a wave of his hand, he signaled his men. "Disarm him, and arrest him."

As one unit, pikes men swarmed Roan and pulled him roughly from his horse.

"Wait, please!" Clarke dismounted in a hurry and rushed for Roan, but she was held back and turned to see Bellamy restraining her. "Bell, what are you doing?! Let go!"

He shook his head, a trace of regret in his eyes. "Not this time, Clarke, I can't. This is for your own good." She was about to argue when the blunt blow of a rifle's hilt cut through the air and her head whipped around to see the guards forcefully subduing Roan, striking the back of his knees with their rifles as they forced him to the ground. " _No!_ Stop! He's n-not even resisting, don't hurt him,please, please stop!" Clarke watched in horror – tears stinging her eyes – as Roan was divested of his weapons and forced face-down on the ground. _Why isn't he fighting back?!_ She knew Roan, she'd seen him fight; he could take all _ten_ of these guards with nothing but a hunting knife and his bare hands, easily… so _why wasn't he fighting his way out…?_ Just then, one of the guards had Roan's hands tightly bound behind his back, and jerked him roughly to his knees. Their eyes met in that split – second before he was hauled to his feet and marched off to the holding cells, and it was then that Clarke knew, he was doing it for _her._ If he fought, he would doubtlessly win, but it would make things infinitely worse, not to mention that all of Clarke's faith and trust in him, would be proven a mistake in their eyes.

He wasn't resisting, for her sake alone, so that she would not bear anymore blame for her part in the treaty with the Grounders – it was his way of protecting her.

As she watched them drag Roan away, her eyes filled with tears and she turned on the one person she knew still lingered at her side.

Anger and hurt burned in the depths of her gaze as she glared at Bellamy. " _What._ Is wrong with you?! I can't believe you're supporting him! He's going to get us all killed, Bell, _all_ of our friends and family – Octavia!"

"No, it's the _Grounders_ that are killing us, Clarke, but you're too blind and naïve to see it!" he argued back but the blonde shook her head. "I don't believe you; you've been poisoned by him, I know Gina died in the explosion, Bell, I lost people too!"

Bellamy's face twisted in rage. "You don't know anything!" he roared.

"…You. Weren't there. And I _should've_ been. You were off playing house with your savage Grounder friends, when you should've -"

She hated that word and in a fit of rage, she shoved Bellamy in the chest, hard. " _Roan_ isn't responsible for what happened at Mt. Weather, Bellamy!" She shouted, tears threatening to spill over and Bellamy reeled back as if burned, staring into her eyes in utter disbelief. " _Roan?!"_ He stalked up to her and leveled her with a hard look. " _Why_ are you defending him, Clarke, why are you even with him?! He captured you, threatened your life and stabbed me in the leg to keep me from rescuing you!"

"Yeah, and _I_ stabbed _him_ in the shoulder when I tried to escape! we've _all_ done terrible things, Bell, none of us are innocent! But Roan's saved my life and many times, he's been the only thing standing between our people and genocide. He may be many things, but so am I. He's my friend and _you_ just helped Pike betray him." She turned away from him and hurried after Pike's men.

She had to do something.

/

When she caught up to Pike, Roan was nowhere to be found and Pike outright refused her when she demanded to see him.

Later that night, she laid in wait at Pike's office but when there was no sign of the black man, she went in search of Kane and her mother.

When she found them, they were already aware of the situation but said Pike had been locked behind closed doors, in the holding area, and hadn't come out for hours. Word from the guards was, he was personally questioning the Azgedan Grounder and commanded no one be allowed in or out during the interrogation.

At the thought of Roan being held and interrogated, Clarke's blood ram cold. "We _have_ to do something! Pike can't be trusted."

"Clarke, I don't trust the man anymore than you do. But Pike is one of us and even though he doesn't agree with the Grounders, the man has always followed strict protocol. He'll question Roan fairly." Kane assured but Clarke couldn't shake the feeling of sickening dread that had settled in the pit of her stomach, the moment Roan had been arrested. "You didn't see how pike's men arrested him, Marcus; they stripped him off his weapons and _beat_ him into submission! Pike didn't stop them!"

At this, Kane's eyes turned wary and he looked to Abby. "Abby. There's a room connected to the interrogation unit – it has one way glass, but I think it's been used for storage, hasn't it?"

"Yes. No one's been in there much, except for me; most of our overflow medical supplies have been stored there."

Clarke glanced anxiously between the two adults.

"Can we get in? If we can at least see what's going on…" she pressed.

"Alright. But we'll have to be careful not to be spotted. Come on." With that, the trio carefully made their way in the direction of the prison unit. The doorway into interrogation was still heavily guarded but Abby kept the guards occupied, creating a diversion by inquiring if there was anything the Chancellor needed her assistance with.

With the guards distracted, Kane and Clarke slipped unnoticed into the nearby observation room.

They had to maneuver several stacks of boxes out of their way but eventually, they stood before the one way mirror and had a full view of Roan's holding cell.

What they saw, had the blood freezing in their veins.

Roan was strapped to a table, arms and legs bound, and his face and torso were drenched.

Pike stood at the head of the table, his hands braced on the edge on either side of Roan's shoulders, and a wet towel was slung carelessly over his shoulder.

With only one other guard present, holding a bucket of ice water in his hands, the evidence was clear:

They were _torturing_ him and waterboarding was the method of choice it seemed.

"All you have to do is tell me where your people are. If you are truly an outcast, then giving up your mother, shouldn't be a problem." Pike asked the same question he'd been no doubt, asking for hours – it was clear what Roan's answer had been and would be.

"…My God, Pike… what has happened to you…?" Kane's horrified whisper jerked Clarke out of her frozen stupor, just in time to witness Roan hurl spit into the chancellor's face. "If you think – that I would betray my _own_ people – simply because my mother cast me out – then it is _you_ who are the savage monster, not I."

Pike wiped the spit from his face with the wet towel and his dark eyes burned holes into Roan's impassive countenance.

Straightening, he turned away and headed to a nearby table. "This would all go so much easier for you." Putting the towel aside, he reached for the packet of cigarettes he kept in his pocket, lit one and casually ambled back to where Roan was bound, taking along drag of nicotine. "I guess that's just the thing about you Grounders." He leaned his hip casually against the edge of the table and looked down at Roan. "You'd rather die than share this land with anyone else."

Roan scoffed and then his eerie laughter filled the room. "Says the man who plans to commit genocide against entire clans – women, children - that's ironic, coming from you." The laughter died down, replaced with Roan's unforgiving scowl as he glared up defiantly at his torturer. "Do whatever you want. You will get _nothing_ from me." He spat and his eyes snapped to the ceiling.

Pike eyed him a moment, then shrugged, seeming to have given up for the moment. "Maybe you're right." He took one last drag of his cigarette before his eyes fixed on the glowing red - hot tip and he was silent.

"… or maybe I just need to find the correct method of approach." In the next second, he ground the butt of his cigarette, into Roan's shoulder. There was a sickening _sizzle_ of burning flesh and Roan uttered a painful groan through clenched teeth. "You seem to forget, _we_ are very resourceful people."

He withdrew, only to press the burning tip to Roan's sternum where a recent flesh wound was still healing; the burning ash against freshly – scabbed flesh, was excruciating and this time, Roan could not suppress the cry of agony.

Clarke couldn't bear another minute and with tears blinding her eyes, she fled the room and rushed the guards, breaking one nose and catching the other off – guard with a knee to the gut. Breaking through the door, she rushed to Roan's holding cell, only then caught and restrained by the two guards who stood outside the door. "Don't touch him!" the blonde snarled viciously.

Tears of pain and rage were tracking down her cheeks but when the black chancellor locked his eyes on her, he actually shivered at the look of malevolence in her eyes. Her pupils were blown so wide, her eyes were nearly black pits and her teeth were bared like a rabid wolf who'd been backed into a corner.

Clarke was spiraling out of control and itching for blood; he was astonished to realize that the girl on the Ark and _this_ enraged woman before him, were two completely different people. Taking a step away from the table, he turned his full attention on the blonde and held up a hand in a show of non-aggression. "Clarke, you need to calm down…"

"If you lay one more fucking _finger on him,_ I swear to god, the Grounders will be the least of your problems." She hissed, glaring darkly as the chancellor reached the Plexiglas door and stepped out.

His men still held Clarke captive by both arms, but a nod from him had them releasing her.

Big mistake.

Slipping her dagger free from within her sleeve, she caught pike in the jaw with a vicious right hook, stabbed one guard in the shoulder and the other, she knocked out cold with the butt of her knife to his temple.

Making a dive for the holding cell, she managed to cut the wires to the key pad just before slamming the door behind her. It was locked from the inside and there was no way to get in now that the key pad had been destroyed.

"Clarke!" Pike stumbled for the door but all it was no use – the key pad for all locking codes, was ripped open and all the wires severed in one stroke.

Clarke stood on the other side, fists clenched and glaring daggers at him. "You can do whatever you want to me. I don't care that you're the chancellor – but I'm not leaving this cell," she punctuated with a finger pointed to the floor at her feet. "until I've tended to him and you _will not_ lay another hand on him."

"…You've crossed a line, miss Griffin. You're betraying your own people for a _Grounder_ , think about your actions-"

She leveled him, blue eyes hard and cold. "Roan _is_ my people. _You?_ You're a _monster,_ and if you want to kill me, then kill me. I'd rather die than join you."

She turned his back on him and rushed to Roan's side, Pike's words of 'let her do what she wants but she doesn't leave this cell' barely registering in her ears.

She'd managed to cut Roan's bonds and with great effort, helped the warrior into a sitting position.

Her mother appeared at the door with some antiseptic, bandages and water and when she uttered a tearful 'Clarke…' the blonde just shook her head and offered her mother a small smile. "Mom, I'm fine. He's locked me up but Roan's here - I'm _fine_ don't worry." Her mother nodded and once ushered away by the guards, Clarke returned her attention to her patient.

He was sitting on the edge of the table he'd been strapped to, favoring his left side and glacial eyes fixed on her with burning intensity. She wasn't certain what he was thinking so she stepped to his side to inspect the cigarette burns on his shoulder.

No words were spoken until ten minutes had passed and when Clarke moved to Roan's other side, he noticed the shadowing of a bruise on the side of her face, just above her cheek bone.

When her head turned away as she reached for a bandage, he caught her jaw in his hand, turning her back to face him.

She started at his touch but settled when the warmth of his callused palm, seeped into her. It was soothing and comforting. "What-?"

"What happened? Who did this?" he demanded as his thumb brushed up along the purpling bruise.

Clarke felt her heart tremble a little but she affected nonchalance. "It was just a light hit; one of the guards slammed me into the wall out there, just after I kneed him in the gut, it's nothing, its fine."

She tried to brush off his hand on her but her wrist was snagged by his other and he pulled her closer, fully cradling her cheek as he inspected the bruise with hate-filled eyes. His obvious anger at her being hurt, softened Clarke and she gently cupped his hand that still cradled her face, drawing his eyes to hers with the action. "I'm fine, Roan… don't worry."

"You are an idiot, Clarke; you shouldn't have done that." He chided but she shook her head, causing his hand to slip from her face. "He was _torturing_ you, Roan."

"You don't know that -"

She shot him an angry look. "I was in the next room! It has one – way glass, Roan! That means it's a window that you can only see in, not out, I saw it _all._ They asked you to give up _Azgeda_ and then they d-drowned you and burned you with cigarettes!" she gestured angrily at his chest and shoulder.

His eyes flickered to his wounds, then back to her face which was etched in unimaginable worry.

 _Did she really care for him that deeply?_

The thought had his heart aching and for the first time, he dared himself to believe that somewhere in her heart, she felt the same as he did.

"Did you expect me to give them what they wanted?" he asked then, unable to keep from testing her a final time to see where her loyalties truly lay.

"Of course not. I knew you wouldn't; regardless of whether your mother's a bitch and kicked you out, you are still _Azgeda_ ' _s_ prince. More than that, you love your people, you'd never betray them. I've always known that."

She had been bandaging a shallow cut on his arm as she spoke, but her words overwhemled the _Azgedan_ prince and he couldn't refrain from pulling her into his arms and pressing a firm kiss to her mouth. They separated on a gasp; his name was the first thing tumbling from Clarke's lips in a breathless astonished whisper. " _Roan!_ "

His hand on the back of her neck, drew her closer until her face bowed over his and their foreheads touched. "After those words – there was just – nothing else I could think of." He admitted.

"Is that – often your method when you disagree with someone's opinion, or -?"

He groaned in annoyance, pulling back and pinning her with narrowed eyes. "Honestly, you _stupid_ woman, this is what I'm talking about; you are so damn clueless when a man is trying to show you interest. Or passion."

She flushed beat red. "U-uh, I'm what?!" She gasped, so overwhelmed by the heady sensation of being in his arms and the taste of him on her lips – her head was one convoluted hot mess.

He kissed her a second time – this time, his tongue invaded her mouth and stroked long and languorous against hers.

She whimpered against him, then _moaned_ when he playfully nipped at her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth.

He worked her mouth over quite thoroughly before finally releasing her, enjoying sheen of his saliva glistening on her lips. "When I said Bellamy looking at you as though he owns you, bothers me, I meant it. It bothers me because I don't want _anyone_ laying claim to you, but _me."_

She gaped at him, utterly flabbergasted. "…Roan…"

"When you said it was so hard to believe that anyone could see you in that way, I was angry. Because _I_ do."

Her lips parted to speak but there were no words. "You told your chancellor that I was your people. Did you mean that, Clarke?"

His eyes were steady upon her; her lip quivered but she looked back at him squarely and murmured, "You know I meant it…"

"Then –"

"No, you can't – I have to get you out of here, Roan; there's no way Pike's going to let you go and after today, he's…"

"I'm not letting you break me out of jail, without an answer." He persisted, already sensing Clarke pushing _'them'_ to the side so she could focus on his safety first and foremost.

"Roan we _can't do this_ right now." She pleaded, her hands clinging to him as her eyes begged him to see reason. "We have to get you out of this, your life is what matters." She made to pull away from him but the man was relentless and he was in his feet with one arm trapping her against him and his free hand firmly cradling her cheek. "You will _stop_ devising ways for my escape, and _give me_ an answer, _Wanheda."_ He only used her _Azgedan_ name when he meant business; she knew there was no winning against him. "…If I am with you, I would only be putting you in _more_ danger, Roan. I couldn't bear that -"

"That doesn't matter, Clarke; we both are in danger, whether together or apart – together, is better though. There's no one I trust with my life, more than you."

His admission humbled her. "Roan… you – You are making it nearly impossible for me to say no -"

He held her tighter, tipping her chin up to look in her eyes. "Then _don't._ Stay with me, Clarke. Fight at my side and know that I will never demand anything but your heart; all of it. I warn you now, I can hold _nothing_ back when it comes to you – I want _all_ of you and I will not share." His eyes sharpened and Clarke was left in complete and utter amazement. She couldn't hold back the tiny curve of her lips into a smile as she looked up into his eyes and spoke with a voice that was soft, yet resolute. "You are the most – irrational, passionate, immovable man I have ever met. There really is _no_ victory for anyone who moves against you, is there."

An actual _grin_ lit up his eyes in a way that had Clarke's breath catching in her throat.

"Good to know you are wise enough to admit your defeat, O _mighty Wanheda._ " He teased smugly and she shook her head in wonder at this playful, boyish side of him.

"You gave me little choice, O great _Hainofa_ …" She sassed, but her countenance affected solemnity once more as she continued to speak in hushed tones. "But we have to focus on finding a way to get you out of here, first."

"Clarke, you'll be risking your own safety and I -"

"nevermind that! I'm Abby's daughter and as the only doctor, pike values her; he needs her trust, not her hatred for killing her daughter."

"You speak as if you've already considered this and have a plan." He murmured and was met with one of her adorable sheepish smiles.

"…I might have a few ideas."

He smirked knowingly. The guards began to shift outside the door as they prepared for shift change and Clarke cast a furtive glance in their direction before she concludes, "I'll be checking in on you daily for your treatment so just wait for my signal … and trust me, okay?" She rested a hand on his chest and he clasped it with his own while cupping her cheek and bending to press a kiss to her forehead. "Always. My trust is yours, Clarke, and so is my life."

/


	9. Fool

A/N: So I've been getting more requests for Clarke/Roan and I just can't resist so here you go! This idea just popped into my head at random - it's a bit of a Roan/Clarke/Bellamy triangle with a smidge of BellamyxEcho thrown in for good measure. Hope you enjoy!

/

 _ **(Polis – 2 weeks before praimfaya)**_

Finding her best friend and partner, naked and entwined with the _Azgedan King's_ Second, wasn't wholly unexpected, if she were being completely honest. Still… actually _seeing_ it with her own eyes was a bit of a shock to Clarke and more than a little uncomfortable.

In all fairness though, maybe she should've knocked a second time, just to be sure.

When she'd entered the guest room Bellamy had been given for the last three days, only to find Him and _Echo_ tangled up in the sheets and each other, she'd flushed beet red from the tops of her breasts all the way to her hairline.

' _Clarke -!'_ her name was the only word uttered from his mouth before he threw himself over Echo, as though shielding her from Clarke's astonished, penetrating stare.

' _I knocked – you didn't answer s-so – '_

A flash of near regret passed through his eyes and it snapped her out of her dazed stupor.

' _Sorry, uh excuse me.'_ And she spun on her heel and fled as quickly as she could.

An echo of her name followed her into the hall but she chalked it up to her imagination, ignoring the nagging feeling that accompanied the desperate intonation it held with it.

She didn't know how many turns she'd made down nameless corridors but when she finally came to a halt, she was breathless as she leaned heavily against the wall for support.

 _Bellamy and Echo._

Was it _really_ so surprising?

No. Not really. Yet, the fact that the _Azgedan_ woman had wholeheartedly tried to kill her on more than one occasion, did strike her as a bit disconcerting when it came to Bellamy having no qualms with sleeping with her.

' _That's not entirely fair though, is it? After all, Roan threatened Bellamy before, yet you consider him your friend.'_ Her thoughts mocked her yet the blonde only scoffed in answer. "But that's _different;_ he hasn't tried since and I'm not _sleeping_ with Roan – "

"Who's not sleeping with me?"

A deep, gravelly voice had her scared half out of her skin, blue eyes snapping across the hallway where the object of her inner debate was standing in an open doorway, pale blue eyes watching her intently and a curious cock of his head.

"…What are you - ?"

"I could ask you the same; I heard voices."

This was embarrassing.

First, she stumbles in on her best friend (secretly-hoped something more, but clearly that wasn't gonna happen) mid-coitus with her nemesis and now, the one empty corridor she'd chosen to take refuge, just had to be the one outside Roan's bed chambers.

She might as well be streaking through Polis stark nude because certainly nothing could be more humiliating than this moment right now.

With a jerky shake of the head, she pushed off the wall and affected composure. "Sorry, I was just – lost in thought."

" 'lost in thought' at _my_ doorstep?"

The traitorous red flooded her cheeks once more followed by a tightening in her throat. She turned half-way to the side, wiping invisible specks of nothing off her cheek. "I just walked in on something a bit – embarrassing, that's all. Consequently, my goal was to just get away as fast as I could; I wasn't really paying attention to _where._ "

"So you were embarrassed – and your first response to that was to come here. I must say I'm flattered." There was a mirthful glitter in his eyes and the hint of a smirk as he stepped out into the hall with her, dressed in nothing but a pair of loose sleeping trousers and a cotton tunic – he looked more _human_ than _king_ she thought and almost … warm.

She dragged a feminine hand down her face – ' _I'm losing it_ ' she thought before startling when Roan's large hand was suddenly around her wrist and his eyes darkened with concern. "Clarke, what's wrong?"

She cast fleeting eyes to where he touched her, then looked up into his face in confusion. "W-What?"

His brows furrowed and he drew her closer, his free hand cupping her cheek. "Why are you crying?"

She gave him a you've-clearly-lost-your-mind look, before she noticed his face had begun to blur.

Reaching a hand up, she felt the telltale wetness and suddenly, she was staring up at him in wide-eyed shock with tears streaming steadily down her cheeks.

" _Wanheda_ …"

She shook her head vigorously then, staring at the moisture on her fingertips. "S-Sorry. I had no idea…"

They stood in silence for agonizingly tense moments, until shaky lips parted and Clarke spoke, voice soft. "I just…Bellamy and Echo were – I wasn't expecting it a-and I walked in on them…"

Sensing the direction this conversation was taking, Roan's shoulders sagged as a heavy breath left him. "… he lead you to believe it was _you_ he cared for."

Her head snapped up to look at him, his choice of words catching her completely off guard. "He didn't – I never thought –"

But he cut her off.

"Wanheda. Don't lie to me now, or yourself; you know as well as I, Bellamy gave you indications of that intention. Clearly, he never meant to follow through but the point is – "

He broke off when her voice cracked in a muted sob.

A dark part of him wished he'd finished Bellamy off that day, so long ago.

Gathering herself, she shook her head, sealing her lips against any further pain-filled sounds. "I'm _not –_ honestly, I'm not really all that surprised, I just…I feel embarrassed. Humiliated. Really, _Really,_ stupid." She scoffed then, a bitter smile crossing her lips before the _Azgedan_ King wordlessly bowed his head and kissed it away.

When he pulled back to look in her eyes, he was met with unadulterated shock and traces of unbridled _hope_ gleaming in her wide blue eyes.

Roan _smiled_. "Don't be so quick to cast your value on the opinion of a fool, Clarke."

When her mouth opened and closed with no words uttered, his fingers lightly brushed against her cheek as he murmured, "Bellamy is an idiot."

/


	10. Ain Jos

_**Ain Jos**_

He knew meetings with his war chiefs, were a necessity—but that didn't make them any less _tedious_.

Two hours had gone by, yet all they'd managed, was to bicker with each other, every other word, and their king was immensely weary of it.

Of course, the issue of whether or not _Skaikru_ remained worthy of their position as Thirteenth Clan, was perpetually at the center of every argument, and frankly, Roan was just about ready to say, 'to hell with you all' and toss them allout; let _Azgeda_ take the bunker for themselves, and just be _done_ with it all.

 _Praimfaya_ was months away—no, Roan was _not_ under the illusion that they had 'time to waste'—and it seemed nearly every clan was under the delusion that 'months' equated, 'let's all just sit on our asses and quarrel like little brats; no need to actually work together so we can survive the end of the world, oh no! Let our _beloved_ king carry the full weight of that burden, all by himself.'

Another argument broke out just then, and voices raised to near-shouts that could escalate to blows, _"Enough!"_

Thunderedthe _Azgedan_ king; glacial orbs were sharp, piercing each member present at the war council.

" _Skaikru's_ science says 'months' but _Wanheda_ has told us, that time frame isn't certain. Our time can shorten in the blink of an eye; we cannot afford to waste it with senseless fighting! You are not alone in your apprehension regarding the coalition; I share in your concerns, but this is about our _survival_. Feuds and jealousies cannot have place right now. Too much is at stake." With one hand poised on the armrest, Roan leaned forward in his throne as he addressed each member of his council, with an earnest tone and steady gaze.

His words seemed to quiet them, and at last, the meeting was drawing to a close.

Suddenly, the doors to the throne room, burst open, and Roan's captain, Tarik (Echo's second) appeared, winded, and the look of dread was upon his countenance. " _Haihefa,_ forgive me, but _Skaikru_ has just arrived unexpectedly; Lincoln and Indra of _Trikru_ are with _them—_ they were attacked, Sire, and _Wanheda_ is badly injured."

The sounds of the throne room were deafened by the sudden roaring of blood in his ears; he'd heard his captain's words clearly, and while Roan's brain had processed them, his _body_ seemed frozen in a virtual limbo.

 _Skaikru was attacked._

 _Wanheda was injured…no. Wanheda was_ _ **badly**_ _injured…_

 _SClarke was injured._

Roan's skin prickled with the sensation of _ice_ racing through his veins and suddenly, the king of _Azgeda_ was on his feet and descending hurriedly from the dais.

"This meeting is dismissed." He basely declared, following Tarik out into the hall.

"Echo. With me." He rumbled as he briskly passed the blonde, who quickly fell instep with a crisp, "Yes, sire." Murmured at his back.

Roan could barely feel his legs—it was a strange sensation, knowing you were walking, yet unable to _feel_ the limbs that carried you; he ignored it in favor of curling his fingers into tight fists until the blunt nails carved crescents into his palms.

It stung. He focused on that feeling, and directed his attention to Tarik. "Explain." He ordered sharply.

" _Splita_ , Sire. We don't know of what clan, but they cut off _Wanheda_ 's party, at Moon Crescent pass; at this point, I believe _Wanheda_ was alone; one of her company fell ill and the others returned her to camp _Arkadia_. When they _returned—Wanheda_ was already-"

Roan couldn't stand the next words and cut him off, " _Who_ found her? Who is with her?"

"Lincoln was out hunting, and came upon her; he sent for help, but they were too far from _Arkadia_ ; we were closer. Octavia of _Trikru_ and Bellamy of _Skaikru_ are also with them. In here."

It was only a few minutes walk from the throne room to the infirmary, but it had felt like an eternity, when the doors opened, and Tarik stepped aside to allow his king to enter.

He was met with Clarke's tiny frame laid out on a makeshift gurney, and the entire left side of her torso, drenched in blood.

It had already begun to pool on the floor.

Roan had witnessed much death and brutality in his thirty winters; he was no stranger to blood, torn flesh and bone. Yet the sight of _Clarke's_ blood, sickened him to his core and the urge to wretch, was violent.

Forcing it back with every shred of will, he steeled himself and stepped up to where Indra, Lincoln and Octavia were muttering earnestly amongst themselves.

"... she's lost a lot of blood,"

"- couldn't have been there any sooner,"

"—pretty deep; Lincoln, was it-"

"Indra." Roan's graveled rumble, drew the others' attention, and Indra stepped to his side, her voice low and gesturing for him to remain calm.

"Lincoln found her as soon as he could, _Haihefa_ , but she had already been wounded—we don't know how deep it is; the healer says there's too much blood. But there's a bitter smell to the wound—which suggests poison-" the word elicited a physical jarring _recoil_ in Roan's body, that did not go unnoticed, but he ignored the wary glances, and turning, gripped the healer's arm, forcing her eyes to meet his over her shoulder.

"Can you fix her?" it was phrased as a question, but forced through clenched teeth and with strong threatening undertones.

The middle-aged Grounder shook her head, bracing for his wrath, "I'm sorry, _Haihefa_ , but with the probability of poison and the amount of blood she's lost-" a painful squeeze of his hand around her arm, cut her words off on a hiss.

His jaw worked till it ached, and pale blue eyes were icy and murderous, when Octavia cut in. "Okay. This threatening bravado of yours, _isn't_ gonna help Clarke. We need a solution." She cast her eyes to Lincoln then, "If it's poison, we need Nyko."

Lincoln nodded his agreement, but didn't even get out the words 'with your permission', before Roan's eyes darted to him with a fierce, " _Go."_

Lincoln was gone in the space of a breath.

And then, Clarke regained consciousness, and let out an agonizing scream.

The pain was _excrutiating._ It seared through her left side like fire, and she began to thrash.

"hold her down! The more she thrashes, the faster her blood flows and the faster the toxin will flood her system!"

Octavia and Indra leapt instantaneously, pinning Clarke's lower body to the table, as the healer worked tirelessly to staunch the bleeding.

" _Haihefa._ I need you. Go to where she can see you. Keep her arms and head, steady—as still as possible, do you understand?"

Wordlessly, Roan took his place above Clarke's head, and braced both his hands on her shoulders, pinning her upper body as much as he could, without further injuring her side.

She appeared delirious; oblivious to anyone in the room, she continued to struggle and cry out in pain.

A spray of blood stained the healer's cloak.

" _You have to try harder, Haihefa; bruise_ her if you have to! Try—Try to get her attention. Make her see you, and talk to her." The small group fought valiantly; each praying that Lincoln would return soon, with Nyko in tow.

But until then, they could only wait.

"Clarke, _Clarke!_ "

Clarke half-thrashed, then froze when she was met with piercing glacial orbs hovering above her.

The sight of her Bird-blue orbs, sent a tidal wave of relief washing through him, and Roan barely contained his composure.

His hands put pressure on her shoulders as he leaned over her and muttered directly against the shell of her ear, "Clarke, it's Roan. I know you're in a lot of pain right now. But you can't move. You have to stay still for me, Clarke,"

Her eyes welled with silent tears, and he felt them as they spilled over and streaked down her temples.

Indra's dark hand appeared, placing a knotted rag between Clarke's lips, to bite down, when the pain became unbearable.

Clarke offered the weakest nod of thanks before her eyes rolled back up to stare at the _Azgedan_ king.

His hands slid inward on her shoulders, towards her neck, and he began to stroke her tear-stained cheeks with his thumbs, as he spoke strongly yet softly into her ear.

"Just listen to the sound of my voice, Clarke. I don't want you to talk, just listen and blink once, if you understand, and twice, if you can't think beyond the pain. Do you understand?"

One blink.

"That's it. Good, Clarke."

His gaze flickered momentarily up to the healer, and she gave him a reassuring almost-smile, " _Good, Haihefa_. Keep talking to her; your voice is calming her and that's what we want. Don't stop."

He nodded, eyes falling back to Clarke's face, where he nearly laughed at the clear-as-day _smile_ reflected in her watery eyes.

"Of all the times to finally show me your smile; you choose the moment of excruciating agony." He scoffed dubiously.

" _Distract_ her from the pain, not mention it; idiot!" Octavia hissed venomous. Roan discarded her treacherous tone, and simply drew his face closer to Clarke's.

"What were you thinking, being out there all alone?" He scolded softly, but Clarke could see the _anger_ simmering in the depths of his eyes, and she rolled her eyes, half-grunting in irritation.

Roan grit his teeth; his hands marginally tightening their hold on her. " _Don't,_ Clarke. You can't even argue with me, if you wanted to. You know how many seek the life and power of _Wanheda_. Why would you take such a risk?"

Clarke's eyes watered, shifted back and forth between his, and then dropped down towards Octavia and Indra.

She locked eyes with the youngest Blake, a silent plea exchanged.

But Octavia shook her head, and a look of distress passed over the blonde's features.

"What?"

Octavia eyed Roan hesitantly.

His eyes snapped between her and Clarke, before Indra stepped forth and spoke, " _Wanheda_ was targeted for different reasons, Roan."

His eyes met the dark warrior's grim expression and something akin to poisonous dread, tightened in his gut.

"The _Splita_ were among those from _Trikru, Podakru_ and _Trishanakru,_ who were adamantly against you taking up the crown. They separated from their clans willingly, and formed a renegade group of extremists…they challenged _Wanheda_ because of her loyalty to _you."_

By this point, Clarke was blinking rapidly, and earnestly shaking her head 'no' attempting to dissuade Indra from speaking any further. But the _Azgedan_ king shot a pointed look at the blonde; he would not yield until he heard the rest.

Learning forward, his one hand had an iron grip on the edge of the gurney, and his eyes cut to slits as he commanded, " _Tell me._ How do you know this?"

Indra pressed her lips together, her eyes searching the floor, before she met her king's embroiling stare. "Octavia and I managed to track the small party of renegades who were responsible for Clarke's attack. One of them—Octavia kept him alive long enough until he broke with the truth; they—they tried to force Clarke's hand; they wanted her to renounce her loyalty to you. To denounce you as not a king, but a traitor and a _coward._ She refused. Even when they cut her and threatened her people…she would not forswear fealty to the King of _Azgeda_ …not even if it cost her, her life…" The dark skinned warrior finished the account solemnly, just as the doors opened and Tarik ushered in Lincoln who was followed by Nyko.

"Lincoln and Nyko." With a measured touch to his arm, Octavia drew Roan's eyes towards the approaching _Trikru_.

They were three steps away, when suddenly Roan stepped into their path, blocking Clarke from their view.

His eyes were narrow and distrustful as he appraised the _Trikru_ warrior he did not recognize.

"I don't know your face—therefore, I don't trust you." He said gravely, his head tilted in suspicion.

"Clarke trusts him, _Haihefa."_ Lincolndeclaredrespectfully _,_ butearnestly _._

"Even if she didn't, we don't have any other choice!" Bellamy spoke up for the first time, since this all had started; he inserted himself between the men and directed his gaze towards Roan. Despite being a good 5 inches shorter than the ice nation king, Bellamy's posture was steadfast and his eyes hardened in resolve. "You might be willing to risk her life on the basis of your mistrust; _I'm_ not. Nyko," Bellamy gestured for _Trikru's_ healer to continue.

Nyko stepped forward, only for Roan to grasp his arm firmly, icy orbs piercing him squarely. "Is there more than one dose of antivenom?"

Nyko hesitated only for a moment, then procured a second vial of blood red liquid and held it up for the king to see, "... _Sha_ , _Haihefa."_

"Then dose me first." He commanded.

All eyes turned to Roan - Bellamy's expression the most inscrutable of all.

Lincoln pressed a careful hand to Roan's shoulder, drawing those piercing blue eyes to settle upon him with keen sharpness. "The antidote is made from the source of the poison; if you take it _without_ having been affected, you could fall dangerously sick…" The Handsome _Trikru's_ wizenedgaze was overshadowed in concern, but Roan ignored him, settling his eyes upon Bellamy instead, who still regarded the _Azgedan_ with an inscrutable stare.

"I'm aware. No risk is too great in this circumstance." He declared strongly, and the words dropped solidly, hanging like a silent challenge between Himself and Bellamy; he was no fool. Bellamy's feelings towards Clarke, had never been hidden from his eyes…and Roan was never a man to back down from an ambiguous, yet calculated challenge.

…Perhapstakingtheantidote, leaned a bit more towards the _extreme,_ in his show of acceptance to Bellamy's remonstrance, but there was no need for the _Azgedan_ king to openly admit it.

"Dose me first." He repeated, his eyes never breaking contact with Bellamy.

The others moved around them, preparing Clarke for the antidote.

As Nyko dropped the second vial into Roan's outstretched hand, the ice nation king leaned an inch closer to Clarke's partner, and uttered valiantly, "Despite what you think of me, Bellamy of _Skaikru,_ there is _nothing_ I won't risk, for her sake." With that, he brushed passed him, uncorked the vial and knocked it back in one go.

Seconds went by, until at last he addressed the two healers. "Do it." Even as the words left his mouth, he caught Nyko'a arm a final time and his eyes cut into threatening slits, "If she dies…it's your life, _Trikru_."

Nyko nodded fearlessly, and as Clarke slipped into unconsciousness, he set to work.

/

It felt as though eternity lapsed, only to cycle back and begin again, as Clarke drifted in and out of consciousness.

She felt the heavy weight of delirium each time she was pulled back from the darkness; she could only make out distant hums, distorted sounds and blurry images at best.

Once or twice, she managed to fight the darkness long enough to snatch a few words,

"-been out for this long?"

"-t—il take time to-"

"-must be patient."

Again, she would slip away, only to be dragged back by an intense, sharpened pain that radiated through her side and drilled into her skull.

It felt like the world's _worst_ hangover, hand-in-hand with the sensation of fire burning her from the inside out; she wished for death for only a flicker of a moment, before the hazed veil lifted from her eyes, and she heard a deep, husky voice speaking directly into her ear,

" _Stay with me, Clarke; remember the river? When I bound your hands after you'd attempted to drown me, you stabbed me with your dagger, in retaliation,"_

The voice sounded so distant, yet felt so near; she instinctively turned towards it, latching onto the softly spoken words that breathed a caress against her cheek.

" _You were so defiant, Wanheda; I found myself utterly amazed by the fire in your eyes, as you fought me…I should have told you, long ago; though I loathed your naïveté—your arrogance_ … _you_ _gained_ _my_ _respect that day..."_

The voice faded as another wave of intense pain seared through her, and Clarke was thrust violently into full consciousness as her back bowed off the table and another piercing scream tore from her lips.

"Clarke!" Roan roared in alarm.

"Hold her down!" Nyko commanded; the antidote had been administered, but he was only partially through with stitching up the eight-inch long gash, in her side; the wound still bled and the surrounding flesh was tender and inflamed—Nyko had hoped she would remain unconscious, long enough to be spared the excruciating pain, but now, he would have to work faster in order to spare her what little discomfort he could.

"This is insane." Bellamy cursed, dragging shaking fingers through matted curls, as he paced the room like a caged animal.

The _Azgedan_ healer grit her teeth, as she fought to hold the gash pinched together, as Nyko stitched.

"Your anxiety is _not_ helping; Nyko and I need to concentrate. If you cannot keep your head and keep _silent_ , leave the room so we can heal _Wanheda_." She spared a thinly-veiled glower over her shoulder, and Bellamy stalked from the room with Octavia at his heels; she needed to keep an eye on him, lest her brother tear the whole place apart.

Indra followed to support her Second, which left only Lincoln and Roan remaining.

By now, Clarke's cries of agony, had heightened to drawn out echoes of suffering that filled the room, filling Roan with a sense of despair, like he had never known in his life.

The weight of her suffering, was a crippling burden that fell upon his shoulders, imbuing him with a measure of the unbearable agony Clarke was forced to endure, and his own endurance, was put to an end.

Gripping the gurney on either side of her mildly-thrashing head, his eyes burned with thinly-tethered fury, "She can't endure this any longer; _do something_. _**Now**_ _!"_ He hissed through clenched teeth.

Nyko's steady gaze locked with the maddened gaze of the King, "I am nearly finished; but I need her _still_ , _Haihefa_. Talk to her, she will listen to your voice."

Roan bit back his fury and again, bowed over Clarke's face and spoke earnestly; this time, his voice was unsteady and tinged with desperation. "… _Clarke_."

Red rimmed eyes dragged to his face and held there by a thread, as tears rolled continuously down her cheeks.

"…Clarke. You _have to keep still_."

She whimpered, her face screwing up in a way that let him know, _'I can't!'_ As she blinked furiously; the pain was beyond what she could bear.

"You can do this, Clarke," he encouraged, moving one hand down to grasp her shaking fingers, tightly. "You are _strong, Wanheda_ ; you've made it this far, you can't give up now."

In an unexpected turn, Clarke rallied enough strength to part her lips and speak through the pain, "… _R-Roan, I don-"_

He had not been prepared for the sound of her voice, let alone the tone of _resignation_ ; the broken rasp of his name, felt far too much like a _goodbye…_

" _Don't._ Don't you **dare** finish that sentence…Clarke,"

Suddenly, the _Azgedan_ King's guarded temper, shifted.

Impervious to the presence of Lincoln, Nyko and the _Azgedan_ healer, Roan grasped Clarke's hand fully within his own, and tenderly swept the unruly hair back from her tear-stricken face.

Bowing over her, he dipped his head until they were nearly nose-to-nose, and whispered gruffly, "You are not allowed to give up, _Clarke kom Skaikru._ You will fight with every last shred of your stubborn will; no, _open your eyes, Clarke._ Open your eyes, and **fight!** "

Turbulent ocean blue, clashed with unforgiving glacial winter.

"… _Fight, Clarke…please…"_ He pleaded. And then, Roan dropped his walls, letting her glimpse the full extent of his _fear_ , as he dropped his forehead to hers. "You haveto stay _alive,_ …stay alive, so you can stay _with me."_

And there it was. The words he'd buried so far beneath the surface, were clawing their way and spilling forth from his lips, even as he felt the long-forgotten _burn_ of tears choking his voice.

But her eyes were now fully cemented within his, and Nyko's final nod of assurance, proved that not only had Roan's words reached her, but Clarke had succeeded and fought through the most difficult part of her ordeal.

"The wound is closed." Nyko sagged, and a collective sigh of relief, echoed amongst the occupants. _"Yu don dula ena,_ _Wanheda."_ [You did well, Wanheda] Nyko murmured softly to Clarke; the blonde let out a trembling breath and closed her eyes, spent.

" _Ena don dula, Haihefa_." [well done, Sire] Nyko respectfully inclined his head to the ice nation king as a small smile touched his lips. "She hears your voice, and trusts you completely; that is why Death could not claim her; she draws her greatest strength when _you_ are at her side."

Perhaps it was presumptuous of Nyko, but the _Trikru_ healer was perceptive and esteemed as the wisest of his clan. His sharp eyes had not missed the look of terror in the king's gaze, as _Wanheda's_ blood stained the floor, nor the way in which Roan's voice _held_ her in a protective embrace when his arms could not; it was clear, the heart of the Ice Nation's monarch, was far from 'cold', and _Skaikru's hainofi_ held it in her hands.

His suspicions were only confirmed, when the flicker of a cognizant smile passed through Roan's eyes, as he uttered stolidly, _"En Wanheda ste hart kom Azgeda."_

/

When Clarke awoke, it was to a throbbing ache down the left side of her body, and a dull headache behind her eyes.

She blinked as muted light filtered into her vision, causing the dull ache to peak momentarily, before it subsided once again.

Testing her eyes again, she deemed the muted lighting bearable, and scanned her immediate surroundings.

She felt incredibly warm, and upon clenching her fingers, she discovered she was lying upon a thick bed of the most _exquisitely softest_ firs, in all creation.

She would have stretched languidly, before sinking further into the opulent paradise, were it not for the throbbing ache in her side that reminded her to keep as still as possible.

She could tell she was not in the same clothes she had been in, and a cursory glance downward, revealed a deep emerald sleeping gown, donned her form. The material was a gauzy fabric—thicker than the night robes Lexa had worn—and the neckline was a plunging narrow V that ended just above her navel. The bodice was fitted to her torso, by two cords comprised of muted earth-toned linen, twisted together; one fastened just beneath her breasts, and the other, cinched securely around her waist.

The rest of the gown was simple; long, flowing sleeves that reached just passed her wrists, and split at the shoulder, to enable free range of movement, while the skirt just barely hinted at the wide flare of her hips, before dropping away in a gauzy waterfall of fabric that would doubtlessly sweep the floor, were she standing on her own.

Another thought danced through her mind, _'where am I?'_ before a dark thunderous voice, broke the silence. "You're awake."

The bass undertones vibrated through her, and her eyes eagerly slid to the left.

Roan sat in the window seat, silhouetted against the moonlight, and leaning heavily against the frame. One knee was drawn up to his chest, propping his elbow, while his free leg was carelessly stretched out before him; even haplessly sprawled as he was, Roan's aura was regal and graceful—the picture he made, was _striking,_ and Clarke felt her throat tighten and her heart simultaneously constricting.

Roan was beautiful.

Achingly so.

Suddenly, his piercing glacial orbs were upon her, "You're staring, Clarke." He said lowly.

She blinked owlishly. "S-Sorry," and promptly tore her eyes away.

There was a beat of silence, then rustling and movement, as the king—dressed in a grey tunic, loose trousers and boots—stood to his feet and moved towards her.

He scooped up a trey of something, on his way to the bed, then carefully shifted her legs over, before seating himself atop the furs, beside her.

"Here," he set the tray gingerly in her lap. "You need to eat something."

Clarke gingerly dragged herself to sit up—she made it to her elbows, before hissing sharply, and Roan sat forward and wrapped a careful arm around and under her waist. "Learn most of your weight against me; I'll lift you to sit against the pillows.

She nodded wordlessly, and braced both hands on his broad shoulders, surrendering her weight as he lifted her up and settled her gently into a seated position.

She _prayed_ he wouldn't notice her heartbeat that raced thunderously in her chest.

Roan settled her against the pillows, and her lower back pressed fully against his forearm, as she allowed him to bear her weight.

He went to slide his arm from beneath her, but halted when Clarke's steady breathing suddenly hitched sharply.

He felt the fingers of her left hand, clench into his shoulder and suddenly, her whole body went rigid.

His brows drew together in a frown, "Is sitting up, causing you pain?" he asked, concern tinging his voice.

"N-No, it's not that."

Unconvinced, the _Azgedan_ warrior slipped his arm from beneath her, and instead, settled both hands at her waist, fingers spanning her ribs.

He regarded her closely, his eyes narrowed and intensive as they searched her face in an attempt to unfetter the truth.

His face was inches from hers, and while he appeared nonplussed by the proximity, Clarke's every nerve was wound tight like a spring.

" _Wanheda_ , if you are in pain, you need to tell me, now. Nyko left a tea to brew for you, that is meant to ease it."

"Really, I'm _fine_ ; the pain's just a dull throbbing, I can manage-"

She came up short, when Roan's calloused fingers were curling around her chin, and firmly drawing her face forward.

They were _definitely_ nose-to-nose now, and Clarke's eyes rounded in abject horror, when red flooded her face.

Panicked, she tried to tug free of his hold, but her efforts died when Roan recognized her expression, and stared, _awestruck_.

Several moments of pregnant silence, hung between them - Roan's hold upon her, frozen, and Clarke rigidly helpless within his grasp.

"…Ro-Roan-"

Something flashed within his eyes, but was gone before she could name it. In place of it however, Clarke recognized Roan's indisputable _resolve_ take root, and that scared her more than anything.

"Roan, we s-should really talk about the-"

But the dark Prince-turned-King of _Azgeda_ was nearly upon her, when he muttered thickly, "The _last_ thing I want in this moment, is your 'talk', _Wanheda."_ His mouth lightly feathered over hers, and she gasped as her body rippled in a strong shudder.

It was all the answer he needed, and Roan gathered the blonde against him, ever mindful of her wounds.

Snaking his arm around and under her back, he cradled her in his lap, like a small child, while his free hand spanned the width of her neck with the pad of his thumb tucked under her chin to draw her face upwards and closer to his own. His eyelashes feathered against hers as he deliberately traced the delicate curve of her jawline.

Pale orbs filled with eternal winter, searched hers, and at length, she couldn't bear their intensity, and broke the silence, "What…what _is this_ , Roan?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he murmured thickly.

Her response was a half-deprecating smile that did little to quell the uncertainty in her eyes, "Considering I've—misread situations like this, in the past, I'm going to say no. No, it's _not_ obvious." Her tone was a bit scornful, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it; she knew how she felt about Roan, and if she was being brutally honest, she'd felt this since the very moment he'd captured her at that outpost, all those months ago.

They'd been through _so much_ since then; he'd saved her life countless times, and risked himself for the sake of her people; falling in love with Roan, had been a losing battle from the start, and now, loving him was as easy as breathing, to her.

Regardless of this fact, Clarke was still fiercely protective of her heart, and she refused to read falsely into another situation, if only heartache and disappointment awaited her, yet again.

Roan witnessed every ounce of indecision and apprehension, pass through her eyes, before the stress of the last five days, culminated to a bitter taste that settled on his tongue;

The king was thoroughly _fed up._

"...You took down the _Maun hef_ , without even flinching, yet _cower_ before a naked truth that stares you in the face; my _foolish Wanheda,"_ he mocked her, exasperated. But there was a _look_ in his eyes and a heat in his voice, that rooted Clarke to the spot and left her breathless with anticipation,

"… _Yu don drop of…"_ he murmured darkly, and then he claimed her mouth, his tongue stroking persistently at the seam of her lips, until they fell open in a gasp.

He wasted no time, and though his arms were gentle as he cradled her against him, his lips were eager, and his hands persistent; one twined in her hair, while the other skated up her ribs and teasingly stirred the underside of her breast, before vigorously kneading the flesh in his palm.

This elicited a drawn out moan of pleasure from the flaxen-haired beauty, and Roan's passion was spurred into a smoldering flame as he lashed his tongue against hers, stoking her desire further.

He knew with her healing injuries, they could only go so far, but that didn't matter to him. The rest of it could wait, and until then, he would be more than content to hold her in his arms and feel her body as it responded to his.

"Uhhn… _Roan…_ " She sighed against his mouth.

The _Azgedan_ king felt sharp desire rock through his body, and he broke the kiss, hardening his grip upon her, as he screwed his eyes shut, and placed a strong tether upon his carnal impulses.

"Regardless of how—painful my desires become, I will not risk causing you pain, Clarke…"

He spoke in a measured tone; a testament to the great discipline he exercised above his passions, and the effort, warmed her heart to its core.

Breathing out a soft laugh, she gingerly turned towards him as much as she could without straining her stitches.

"I know," She breathed softly as she touched her forehead to his. Her hands still rested on his shoulders, and his own hands returned to encircle her waist, and he held her gently, but solidly against him.

"Don't think for one second, that I don't _burn_ for every inch of you, _Wanheda,_ " He declared hotly,

"I just-"

But her lips upon his, silenced further explanation, and he only vaguely came back to himself, when Clarke withdrew and whispered heatedly, "Just shut up and kiss me, Roan. And for _gods' sake,_ **don't** stop touching me…" She begged him, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she raised besotted eyes to lock with his own lust-filled gaze, "…the rest can wait, _ai Haihefa…"_

His eyes darkened, heavily infused with lust, passion and traces of fragile blossoming love. _"Sha."_ He assented, before losing himself to endless passionate kisses, mixed with heated caresses; _"Yu belon gon ai_ ," [you belong to me] he muttered earnestly between kisses.

Then, his lips peppered every inch of her face—lingering at every turn—as he murmured just loud enough for her to hear, _"Ain jos…Ain. Ain. …Jos_ _ **Ain**_ _[Mine only…mine. Mine. Only mine.]."_

/

 _A/N: This was so grossly overdue, I'm so sorry, guys! Don't worry, there are more drabbles to come, and hopefully shorter than this; gosh! I set out with an idea, but then I just keep going and can't stop! I get caught up in laying the foundation for each scene, to the point there's little dialogue between my characters._

 _Gotta work on that!_

 _Anywho, R &R!_


	11. Azgeda's Comet

**A/N: There's really no specific timeline for this one. Just established Roan/Clarke friendship, and for this particular drabble, I'm going with an established warrior!Clarke persona; aka, Clarke's been trained to fight like the Grounders, and she's a badass!**

 **Anywho, onwards! [Crossing my fingers, I can keep this one concise!]**

 **/**

 _ **Azgeda's**_ _ **Comet**_

The 'surprise' ambush—as the name implied—had not caught them wholly unexpected; there were still pockets of dissenters amongst certain clans, who had never fully submitted fealty to Roan's rise to the crown.

Ironically, it was a diplomatic mission to address these disputes, that had brought himself, Clarke, Echo, and ten of his most cunning fighters, to the borders of _Podakru_ territory. Talks had been made, and while the atmosphere had remained tenuous at best, Clarke was confident in her belief that Roan would succeed in uniting _all_ thirteen clans, under his rule; "You're a wise king, Roan. But more than that, you're a good man; your people see that and they rally for you; the rest will come to see it too."

He'd wondered than—casting a lingering, sidelong glance at Clarke, perched astride her horse, and riding vigilantly, confidently beside him—when had the great _Wanheda_ ' _s_ faith grown so steadfast?

Her trust in him—as a king, and even more, as simply _Roan_ —was stalwart, and not for the first time, he regarded the answering achein his chest, with wary uncertainty.

They were ambushed at Moon Crescent Pass, and all thoughts of stalwart trust and peace talks etched in earnest hope, were snuffed out when concealed archers rained down their poison-tipped arrows from the cliffs above. They were rapidly hemmed in, and unable to _see_ their enemy, Roan's small company of warriors, were forced towards a bottleneck that would leave them perilously exposed on both sides.

"Surround _Haihefa!_ Protect him; archers, take them out! Assassins, on my word, be ready to climb!" Echo barked out orders with a furious precision that always left Clarke a little breathless with amazement. The woman was cold-hearted, yet passionate and she worked beautifully under intense pressure such as this. Nothing got passed her sharpened hawk-like eyes, and she was an excellent markswoman with the bow; it was no wonder Roan had chosen her as his Second.

Her fierce loyalty inspired those around her to rally in her wake, and Clarke wasted no time in sliding swiftly from her saddle and drawing her knife as she put her back to Roan's.

A straggler attempted to break past the tight deadlock perimeter, but Roan caught his wrist as the fool thrust madly forward with a dagger in hand. Roan knocked the blade free, then hauled the warrior forward and under his shoulder, so he could lock his arm around the other's neck; a swift jerk, snapped his spine, and the would-be assassin, dropped dead at Roan's feet.

It was then, he felt the familiar press of Clarke's back against his, and he smirked despite the escalation of chaos.

The tiny blonde held her knife in a downward grip, blade outwards, and the other arm raised level with her chin, to block any oncoming attacks.

Though Clarke had been trained in the art of swordsmanship by Roan, and archery by a _reluctant_ Echo, she favored close-quartered combat, as her petite size afforded her a certain advantage; she was quicker on her feet, and her reflexes were sharp and enabled her to use her opponent's perceived superior strengths, against them.

She pressed her back to Roan's and jabbed him sharply in the ribs, "You're supposed to stay _within_ the Deadlock, remember?" she chided, eyes never breaking free of the surrounding skirmish.

He nudged back; a rakish smirk igniting his chiseled features, as he rumbled darkly, "Not you too, _Wanheda_ ; by Earth, you're as bad as Echo." He muttered exasperated, and was met with a surprising chuckle bubbling from her lips; she pivoted, spinning on the ball of her foot and blocked the sweeping arc of a _Splita's_ knife from above, simultaneously dragging her blade across his throat.

A waterfall of blood gushed freely from the fatal wound, covering his torso in minutes. He dropped, and she sheathed his knife, along with the others, at her hip; the spoils of battle, Roan had once told her.

" _I_ follow orders—unlike you." She nettled back, mirth evident in her tone.

It was Roan's turn to be amused, and he barked an incredulous laugh, " _You_ —follow orders? Clarke, you astound me with your talent for perpetual humor." He snickered, but her would-be retort was lost as the battle around them thickened.

It wasn't long before one of the Deadlock Five, was felled by an arrow; after that, it all fell apart.

Echo's archers were pinned by the consistent onslaught of arrow fire, and consequently, her assassins had no clear path to ascend; pinned down by arrow fire from above, and hemmed in before, by ground fighters, the _Azgedan_ convoy, was steadily losing.

" _Wanheda!—_ the bottleneck is too narrow—before the assassins crest the summit—it's suicide!" Echo's voice thundered above the battle cries, ringing in Clarke's ears with a deep-rooted dread that echoed back from deep in her belly.

"Dammit." She cursed through clenched teeth,

"We can't hold here, _Echo!_ " she shot back.

Then, Echo's voice rang out to the others, "Fall back! On my command, _fall back_ ; if we force our way forward, we're all dead!"

They withdrew, falling back to rally around their king, before there was a vicious outcry. Their enemies suddenly sprang from their hiding places and descended, swarming them as one body, and cutting down _Azgedan_ warriors, as they went.

In that moment, Roan knew it was retreat, or die.

" _Echo!_ They will slaughter every one of us, if we can't break their hold." His eyes suddenly cut to his commander, and his blue orbs hardened in resolve, his expression steeled for the inevitable. "You know—what you must do. On my command,"

"… _Sha, ain Haijefa!"_

Something within Clarke, dislodged, and fear sluiced her limbs in ice—she couldn't move.

" _ **Now!"**_ Roan thundered, and Echo took one of their own and braced him before her like a human shield, cutting a path to the rear left of the skirmish.

Clarke's blood ran cold; ... Echo had sacrificed one of their own in a fleeting desperate attempt, and he had not struggled nor defended himself.

He had already _known,_ and bravely accepted his fate.

Distantly, she could hear Echo's voice calling the others after her, and only Nika, Tarik and Tiberion, remained at Roan's side.

It dawned on her then.

This had been _planned_ , all along.

And she'd been purposely left out of it.

In the event of an ambush, Roan had sworn Echo to get as many of their men out, as she could—he would retain only a few, to fight and cover their escape; all to ensure that _Azgeda_ and its people would be safeguarded, no matter the cost.

Rounding on him, Clarke's fury surged forth like a tempest. "You _left me out of this?!_ " She shrieked above the resonance of battle.

But there was no time; Clarke lingered for too long and as a result, a few of the others hesitated to follow Echo's lead; Roan had to get her out, now.

" _Wanheda,_ listen to me, you have to go-"

"-Like _hell_ I do, you can't just-"

He cut her off, gripping her shoulders hard, " _Yes,_ you _have to go,_ _ **now**_. Follow Echo, she'll lead you to safety-"

"-Roan-"

"Wanheda, just listen-"

She wasn't even aware that tears were filling her eyes, until they were spilling over, and suddenly, she was _panicking,_ gripping his jacket in white-knuckled fists and half-crazy, screaming at him, " _no, no no no no,_ you're not doing thisRoanyoucant—you—you ca—you ca—t!" she was hyperventilating and almost delirious; her hysterical cries were like a white-hot poker driving through his gut and tearing it apart, but he _could not_ risk anymore time and he willed himself to shake her violently, _"Obey your king, Clarke kom Azgeda!" He roared,_ "Refuse me now, and I _**will**_ cut you down, here and now. Now _go!"_ He had a plan, and with it, he would not die today, but there was simply no time to assuage Clarke's perceptions of his intentions.

He steeled himself, and shoved her forcibly in the direction of the others, and their only escape.

Turning his back, Roan shut out the screams of his own heart, and prepared to face his foe.

He steadied himself with a measured breath and sword, unsheathed…only to be wrenched violently backwards by a pair of hands fastening to the hard edges of his breastplate and shoulder guards.

Thinking an enemy sought to slay him from behind, Roan rounded on his heel, roaring mightily…only to be stunned into silence when Clarke's body slammed into him as she pressed her lips to his in a violent kiss.

Fire and tempest passed between them in mere seconds as her hands fisted his hair, drawing his mouth deeper into hers and _forcing_ his lips apart so she could furiously lash his tongue with hers, molding her body to the harsh edges of his battle garbed form.

Roan's brain had shut down completely, then roared to life as he registered her taste on his tongue.

The _Azgedan_ king quaked with the violent urge to tear her clothes off and forcefully _take_ her right there on the blood-soaked battlefield; but she was pulling away in the next instant, red-rimmed eyes still welling with betrayal and grief, but now resolved, as she spoke four words, "Don't you **dare** __die," before she tore herself away from his arms, and was gone.

/

When they reached Echo's rendezvous point, there was barely enough time to lick their wounds and tend the injured, before they were hauling out at a grueling pace, back to Polis, with the newly risen moon, as their guide.

When they breached the Capitol gates, they were swarmed by others—healers and personal guards—and herded into the tower.

There were furious voices clamoring over each other; tones overlapping, as they fired off inquiries at Echo, _'What happened?' 'did negotiations breakdown?' 'Where's Haihefa?'_

The hard-edged blonde commander, stalled any further questions with a raised hand.

" _Haihefa_ is doing what he can, to ensure the safety of our people; have faith in him and do not doubt his strength and courage." Her eyes cut meaningfully to Clarke, with her final words, and then the crowd was dismissed and the injured taken to their beds.

By midnight, Clarke was bathed and dressed in a soft gauzy long-sleeved robe loosely tied at the waist with a twisted cord. Her damp blonde tresses hung down her bared back, and the water droplets left small water stains bleeding into the sheer, white fabric.

Despite the late hour, she couldn't bring herself to rest upon the luxurious furs that draped her spacious bed, and the thought of _sleep_ , eluded her like a long-departed friend.

Where _was he?_ And if this had all been part of some grandiose strategic scheme, _why_ hadn't she been privy to it?

Did Roan not trust her?

Did he doubt her skill to defend and protect him?

 _No._ As infuriated as she was, she knew Roan had always been forthright in his belief that she could handle herself.

Despite that knowledge, she could not fully quell the sting of _betrayal_ that nettled her constantly.

There was a solid knock, and at her behest, the doors opened and Echo strode in.

The sight of Roan's Second, refueled Clarke's anger, and she grabbed the nearest thing she could find—a stone carved vase—and hurled it at the other blonde in a burst of rage.

Echo dodged the blow, but just barely; the lip of the vase, grazed her arm guard, just before it shattered explosively against the wall.

Her lips tightened as she regarded the other woman, with narrowed eyes, a trace of wariness coupled with understanding, passed through her eyes.

" _Wanheda,"_ She began tensely,

" _ **Don't.**_ _"_ Clarke warned, frostily.

Echo snapped her jaw shut, and simply stood rigidly, tracking Clarke's cagey movements, with practiced eyes.

Clarke stalked away from her, arms tied at her waist, then made a sudden quarter turn back, and regarded her acidly, "You just _—left_ him, there," She spat.

"I followed my king's _orders_ , Clarke; you may be trained in our ways of battle, but you know nothing of our _honor-_ " there was a needling challenge in her voice, that let Clarke know Echo still viewed ' _the great Wanheda'_ as inherently beneath her; she may have gained Roan's steadfast respect, but that only garnered Echo's reticent _tolerance_ , at best.

At this particular moment however, Clarke couldn't have cared less, whether Echo considered her less than the rotting scum she scraped off her boot; Clarke's anger was well and truly stoked against the _Azgedan_ woman, and with it, her ever-building frustration at being discarded from the plan.

" _Honor,"_ Clarke hurled the word just as violently as she had the vase, "If _Azgeda's_ view of 'honor' constitutes _abandoning_ your king to face his fate alone, then by god, keep your damned honor, because I want no part of it!"

Echo's features twisted in disgust as she hissed, "You know _nothing_! You think yourself so far _above_ the rules, above _our_ code, because you think you've snared Roan's heart with a pretty bat of your lashes," she spat at Clarke's feet, snarling, "You may have his respect—but _I_ have his _trust._ His confidence, his secrets;" she made to walk away, only to turn back sharply, and declare and a harsh, yet self-assured voice, " _I_ have been at his side for _decades_ ; living, breathing, and fighting together, with not a single thought, beyond serving him to the best of my ability; I will uphold that legacy and I will obey his _every_ command;" Something in her tone, held a solid strength that made Clarke feel impossibly small, yet she gave no outward indication, and stared Echo down, with shoulders squared and chin held high.

" _You_ ," Echo ended, "You are like the comets that streak across our skies; bright, unbridled energy and flame, that burns fiercely…only to snuff out as you crash smoldering to the earth."

Her words hit Clarke like an arrow square in the chest; mostly, because she could not deny the startling accuracy of Echo's comparison of her origin, to that of a falling star—star considering she literally _fell_ from the sky, the irony was not lost on the blonde—but she recoiled at the thought that, like those brilliant comets imbued with pure fire and stardust, she would only crash to the earth, her light and energy utterly snuffed out at the peak of its glory…

 _What would Roan think of her then?_

But another thought struck her then; this one more powerful and steadfast than the rest, because unlike her wavering insecurities, she _knew_ one truth that remained ever stalwart and unchanging, "You're right." She murmured at Echo's retreating back, and the warrior halted at the renewed steeled resolve that canted every syllable Clarke uttered, "You know him in a way I never could, and you have lived and fought with him, to the point that you would never question his order, or doubt his resolve to see a fight through to its end."

Buoyed by her own words, Clarke took a step forward, her shoulders pulled back, head held high, and her voice so strong—so _commanding_ , that Echo was struck with how _regal_ and _queenly_ Clarke appeared in that moment. "But you _don't_ know me, like you think you do. Yes, I'm naïve, and stubborn, and obstinate. I don't follow the rules and when someone pushes me, I push back. But I also have my own sense of honor—and that is, I _never_ abandon my friends when they need me most. I question their motives when I know they're being reckless, and yeah, you can bet your ass, that I will clock them over the head and drag them out, if it means keeping them alive; Bellamy will be the first to tell you how true that is. So, no, Echo—your right. I don't follow your code, and I've gone against Roan's orders— _countless_ times; I've fought him, stabbed him, let my friends aim their _guns_ at him, just to keep him from doing something stupid," she now stood before the taller woman, yet the fierceness in her eyes and the strength in her voice, did not wane as she finished passionately, "But I have _never_ abandoned him when he needed me. I've never lied to him, and I have fought with him every step, to keep our people safe—his and mine. And I would rather _disobey_ his command and _die_ protecting him, than to live, knowing I _could_ have saved him, if I just hadn't followed one _goddamn_ order."

In the wake of Clarke's fervid speech, Echo was struck silent with no harrowing rebuttal, leaping to the tip of her tongue.

For the first time since she met _Clarke kom Skaikru,_ Echo was faced with the reality that this girl's unquenchable passion and steadfast strength, were one and the same with Roan's; their souls burned with the same fiery resolve, and their desires for peace and prosperity for their people, ran deep within their blood; they were literally born of opposite worlds, yet their _spirits_ shared such a kindred _sameness_ , it bound them inextricably together, in a way that neither Echo, nor anyone could ever understand.

For the first time in her twenty-eight winters, _Echo_ was the one left out.

The midnight hour passed them by in a silent moment that spoke so much more deeply, than the words that had transpired between them.

Then, there was a shout at the gates and while Clarke rushed to her balcony that overlooked the long stretch of road, that lead to and beyond the capitol's gates, Echo was roused by the arrival of one of Roan's personal guards, who upon entering _Wanheda's_ chambers, said, "Echo, _Haihefa_ has returned, and is asking for you."

There was a tinge of smugness she felt, in knowing that it was _She_ Roan had summoned upon his return, not _Wanheda_.

 _Though it was a small consolation in the face of everything she'd learned from the other blonde, still. She would take what she could get._

Casting a pointedly dismissive glance in Clarke's direction, she nodded crisply, "Of course. Inform _Haihefa,_ I am on my way."

And then, she made a show of bowing courteously to Clarke—though the other knew it was to mock her, if that little titillating smirk, was anything to go by—and uttered the parting words, "Forgive me, _Wanheda_ ; my liege calls for me and I mustn't keep him waiting.

With that, she straightened and briskly exited the room, leaving Clarke all alone with her thoughts of betrayal once more.

Little did either of them know, that a certain source had been privy to their verbal smack down, and had skipped gleefully away to whisper these oh so _secret_ delights into the king's ear;

 _Ahh._ Octavia Blake sighed to herself, and her lips curled into a wicked smirk. _She could never resist a juicy bit of match-maker meddling_.

/

Midnight had long passed, yet the hours were still well within the 'ungodly' realms, when Clarke was yet again, roused from her private musings, by a knock at the door.

No, she had not been asleep; her thoughts and emotions had become far too entangled to entertain that luxury—regardless, she rose from her bed, and wearily crossed the room to answer.

"Forgive me, _Wanheda_ ," It was Roan's personal bodyguard, Tiberion, and knowing he'd been one of the ones who'd remained at the king's side during the ambush, she felt relief at seeing that he too, was well.

Her eyes softened, "Tiberion, I'm so glad to see you!"

The brawny warrior smiled, "Thank you, as am I; I'm sorry it's late but _Ain Haihefa_ asked me to fetch you."

Her physician instincts were the first to kick in, and she didn't hesitate to follow him into the hall. "Was he wounded? You should have called me the moment you were back; if he wasn't going to summon the court healer, then-"

They were already down the hall and entering the corridor that housed the king's bedchambers, when Tiberion answered her, "Oh, no, don't worry _Wanheda_ , he's not injured. Not seriously, anyway." The young warrior was already at the doors that lead to Roan's quarters, when he noted that Clarke was frozen in the hall, several paces behind him, and a glaring deer-in-headlights look, casting her face in a few shades paler than normal.

"… _Wanheda?"_ The man regarded her a bit warily, though not out of fear, but concern.

"If he's not—not injured, then—why did he ask for me?"

Understanding seemed to dawn upon him just then, but he did not answer, and simply pushed open the doors and gestured for her, with a calm reassurance that strikingly, reminded her of her father in that moment. " _Haihefa_ is waiting for you, _Wanheda_ ; please enter."

She had no choice, and bracing, crossed the threshold.

/

Roan's chambers were mostly dark, save for the few torches ensconced at certain intervals along the wall, that cast amber shadows dancing across the walls and polished floor.

There was a large sitting room with a black fur rug, couch and chase which were also draped in lavish furs in varying earth tones.

A desk stood off to the left, before the large floor to ceiling window and then further, the actual bedchambers were partitioned off by two ornately carved stone walls that extended only a quarter of the way outwards on either side.

She could only make out the outlines of Roan's king-sized bed draped in black linens and furs, but otherwise, the room was empty and dark, save for a sliver of light that cut across the floor from the adjoining bathroom.

"Clarke?"

His gravelly voice startled her in the darkness and she was never more grateful that he was presently indisposed and could not see her; she'd jumped half out of her skin.

"Where are you?" She called back, and she felt stupid, like she was speaking to an empty room.

"Come towards the light." He rumbled, and she acquiesced.

But once her feet touched the beam of light sprawled across the floor, she hesitated, and again, her heartbeat quickened;

She'd kissed him.

They'd been in the middle of bloody dogfight, clawing and biting their way out, and she'd thrown herself mindlessly at him, and _kissed_ him for all to see.

If _that_ wasn't a gross bridging of boundaries, she didn't know what was.

Suddenly, she didn't want to go in that room—she didn't want to be _here,_ at all, and with her heart now slamming madly against her ribcage, like it would burst out of her chest, Clarke wanted nothing more than to be as far away from Roan as she could possibly be.

Maybe back on the Ark, even,

Yeah. The Ark sounded _really_ good, right about now.

"Clarke, are you-?" That bass timer sent a shudder rocking through her, and she was seized with panic.

"Uh, you don't have to—um, Tiberion said you're not injured;"

"No, I'm not—well not high-risk, injuries. Just scratches." The Clarke he knew, wouldn't let him off that easy; what were 'scratches' to him, were the perfect breeding ground for infection, to the blonde physician, and he smirked, waiting for the telltale moment when she'd burst in, all doctorly concern, and fuss over him incessantly.

"Right. Uh, I'll just come back, then. Tomorrow, and y-you should rest as much as you can."

Her unprecedented response, so completely _floored_ him, that Roan was struck with the feeling, _'Something's wrong_ ' and without a thought, he made for the door and barreled through it, just as Clarke had made the quarter turn and was half a step away from bolting.

Her body jolted when she saw him standing there—nothing but a loose pair of trousers hung low on his hips, and his hair still dripping wet from the bath—her eyes were wide canyons of swirling blue, tinged with tenuous panic.

His eyes pierced hers…then unconsciously dropped to her parted lips,

 _The memory of her mouth on his—pithy and desperate—surged forth in his mind, like a vivid encore._

He snagged her wrist, even as he saw the intent of 'escape' pass through her eyes, and held her fast.

"You have never let me off with anything less than a _full_ examination, whether it's a scratch, or I'm on my deathbed…...you can't help it, Clarke; you're like a nervous mother hen, who can't keep from pecking away at her children, just to keep them in line." There was an almost-smile curling his mouth as he tilted his head and considered her closely.

His typically derisive tone, was surprisingly absent, and when she cast a look up into his face, she noticed that his glacial eyes were softened somehow, and tinged with fondness.

"I just thought—" she stopped, then swallowed, and tried to come off nonchalant, "You just got back from a fight, Roan; when I asked Tiberion if you were injured, he said you were fine, so I let it be-"

"that's not like you."

She deadpanned, "- _And_ decided, I could easily check on you, tomorrow first thing-"

"Hm, also _, not_ like you." He shot back, and this time, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, and pinned her to the floor.

After several seconds, he seemed to have found what he was looking for, and after a measured, "Hmm," he jutted his chin towards the bathroom. "There's a gash on my back where the tip of a sword grazed me; it curves just under my shoulder blade and I can—feel the skin around it, tear whenever I move my arm."

He was baiting her; tossing her a bone, in hopes that she would take it, and be lured in further with table scraps—it was a cunning move; playing upon her tenacity as a doctor, her need to always _heal, fix, soothe, nurture_ , in order to gain the upper hand.

Tactical, but dirty too, and she barely suppressed a groan when his lips curled wickedly because he _knew_ he had her.

"Fine. Sit." She followed him back into the refresher, and he complied, taking a seat on a low stool and leaning forward with his elbows spread on his knees.

She set to work, examined the wound and then properly cleansed it; silence reigned between them, as she fell into this easy rhythm that had always been effortless and instinctual.

She was grateful for the familiarity of it; the nettling banter back and forth, as she tended his wounds and chastised his recklessness—this was easy. This was them.

Or so she'd thought.

"'scratches'" she muttered, exasperated. "You know, if I had a dime for every fricking time you've said 'scratches'," there was a sharp hiss, and her brows knitted in concern as she met his eyes through the mirror, "Sorry, sorry,"

He closed his eyes and rolled his lips together, shaking his head, "Not your fault; pretty sure the sword was dipped in something-"

He barely managed to hold in his laughter, when watching her eyes round so wide as she half-shrieked, _"Roan!"_

That was his limit, and he jolted as he barked out a short laugh, "Kidding," Which was met with a sharp backhand to his shoulder.

" _God_ , you are _just—stupid,_ I hate you." She was scowling as she bent over his back to tape the bandage in place, and Roan's laughter died down to throaty chuckles as he watched her through the mirror.

"If garnering your 'hatred' sanctions another voracious attack where you ambush me with a kiss, then by god, I hope you never cease despising me." He said lowly, and Clarke's fingers froze against his skin.

He listened as she drew in a shuddering breath, and then continued taping the bandage.

She didn't meet his eyes. "Well, if you weren't so hell-bent on getting yourself killed, than maybe—I wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures."

Her tone was measured, non-committal, and he noted the way she kept her head tilted down as she worked, shuttering herself off.

"'drastic measures' is what we're calling it?' He pushes, but only just. He knows he's venturing out on thin ice as it is, and he doesn't want to scare her off before he's gotten a few more answers.

There's a bristled 'Hurmph' that sounds suspiciously like a growl, and this time, Clarke picks her head up and glares hard at him in the mirror. "What else would I have, when I'd been so obviously _left out,_ of the plan?"

There it was—he'd known something was amiss when she hadn't insisted on treating him, and now he had unearthed the source of her resentment.

"You're upset." He stated calmly, but this only seemed to stoke her anger further,

"Gods, you make it sound like I have no reason to be!"

"Am I wrong? I'm not saying you have no right, I'm just trying to understand what's going on in your head, Clarke-"

She scoffed and pushed away from him then, "You don't even get it, then." She cut him off.

"I _feel—betrayed_ , Roan, but you can't even see that because all you care about is that your plan succeeded." She was beyond upset, and at the word 'betrayal' Roan was struck that her hurt when far deeper than the fact of being simply 'left out'.

"…You _know_ I wasn't trying to betray you; Clarke," he was on his feet and reaching towards her, but she recoiled, crossing her arms and lifting her shoulder to her chin, cutting off any attempts he made to comfort her, " _Don't_ —touch me."

Her direct rejection, stung him, and he dropped his hand, walling off his emotions with a mask of indifference as his own anger began to simmer.

"We were at a tactical disadvantage in that fight, Clarke; what I did was execute a logical strategy that would cut our losses and ensure that we made it out of there, alive."

"You didn't even tell me—everyone else new; gods, _Tegan_ knew Echo would use him as a fucking human shield, before she even did it!"

"That was the point; I knew you wouldn't have agreed to it, you would've fought me on it like you are now, and I needed things to happen seamlessly."

"You don't trust me."

"That's _not_ true, and you know it."

"Then tell that to Echo."

The mention of his Second, brought Roan up short. " _Excuse_ me?"

 _Dammit!_ She hadn't wanted that to come out, but it was too late now, so she feigned as though the words were intended, " _Tell that_ , to Echo. Because as far as she's concerned, I'm nothing but a decorative chess piece to you."

"What—since when do _Echo's_ sentiments have any sway over your own?"

"Since she practically stormed into my room when I was going half out of my mind, and pretty much told me that I had no inherent value to you, whatsoever. She said I was nothing more than a comet streaking across your sky, only to burn out. That it wouldn't m-matter to you whether or not I disappeared, because you—have her."

Her frustration had been banked up so far, she felt the sudden tears tightening her throat; she tried to force them back and latch onto the original rage that had fueled her outburst, but the more she talked about Echo, the more she was forced to relive the other blonde's words, and the feeling of hallow despair, only grew.

His image blurred before her as she felt the traitorous tears well up, and she turned away from him, sliding a hand over her eyes to conceal it; she refused to let him witness her fall apart.

"so, you suddenly trust Echo's words, when they mattered so _little_ to you before? You—are you _jealous?_ " He sounded so incredulous, that just like that, her fury raged back.

Clarke let loose a snarling shriek, and whirled on him, " _Gods! You just—_ Is that what you want to hear, Roan? Yes! Yes, I'm jealous!" she threw her hands up in the air, and all pretense was gone as she stood before her king, red-faced, screaming and shaking, "I'm jealous, because she's right! She knows you since _decades_ ago, when I've been here, months. She's always a step ahead of you, because she already knows what you need, before you even ask! I—I ride at your side, but I can only anticipate what you need, at best, and while she's privy to your every thought, and knows all your secrets, I'm just—just here. Waiting for the day when you _acknowledge_ me the way you acknowledge her, but I don't—I don't see that day coming." A single tear rolled down her cheek. She ignored it.

Meanwhile, Roan was inwardly reeling from the volley of emotions she'd hurled at him, but like Echo, he blossomed under pressure, and steeling himself against the jarring truth of Clarke's feelings, he spoke strongly, "How could you—ever think, that I could regard you and Echo on even remotely, equal grounds?"

The last of her fight drained out of her at his words, and her hands hung limply at her sides.

She regarded him with the utterly most _shattered_ expression, before nodding once, defeated. "Right. I'm not doing this." She was headed straight for the door—he knew she'd misread his words—when he surged in behind her and grit out, "I _didn't dismiss_ you: you will listen to what I have to say." She fought for seconds, to tear her arm free of his grasp, but his fingers only tightened, and his eyes cut to slits as he hemmed her in and used every intimidation tactic in the book, looming over her so she would feel impossibly small and breakable beneath his hands.

"Echo spoke the words that she knew would hurt you; she sews seeds of discord wherever she goes, because it's her nature and she wields it like an art. I have never particularly cared for that side of her and I don't condone it, but it's the way she is, and I accept that. Just as she accepts me."

She didn't want to hear about his relationship with Echo, and again, she tugged against his hold, biting back the tears that seemed endless now that the dam had broken.

"Would you _**stop**_ -!" He growled, then forced her back into wall, where he captured her wrists in both hands, and harshly pinned them above her head. "You're so—just _listen to me, and stop being so fucking stubborn!"_ he roared, then plowed on so she had no chance to interrupt him again. "I _**will**_ _**not**_ abide you having this ridiculous notion of measuring your value against Echo, or anyone else; I value my warriors, because they are the lifeblood of _Azgeda_ , but I would never be stupid enough to put them on the same footing as you, when you mean infinitely more to me."

Her eyes snapped to his, "What—what did you just-?"

One of his hands left her wrists to cradle her cheek in a touch that was so achingly tender, she was breathless from it.

"You are jealous of Echo for the wrong reasons; she is my trusted Second, but nothing more. _You—you, Wanheda…_ " and he was cradling her face in both hands, murmuring earnestly, "You, with your persistent naïveté and stubbornness, that robs me of my sanity…you steal my heart, in equal turns." With that, he dipped his head and sealed his lips over hers, reacquainting himself with the fullness of her lips, that had been so fleeting when she'd first 'ambushed' him back at the Pass.

He found her pliable and supple beneath him and when the tiniest little whimper escaped her lips to be lost within his own, Roan let loose a hungered groan and pinned her bodily to the wall instead.

Caging both her wrists in one large palm, he returned them to their place above her head, then snaked his other hand between them to curve possessively around her ribcage, just below the underside of her breast.

But she felt how close he was; the heat of his hand just shy of reaching her heaving mound, was driving her insane and she wriggled impatiently beneath him, eliciting a muffled bark of laughter. "I'm touching you, yet you are still dissatisfied?" he cocked an accusatory brow at her, that only earned him a withering scowl in return. "Don't get cheeky with me,"

" _cheeky?"_ he repeated dubiously, now, thoroughly bemused.

"Yes, _cheeky_. You're touching me, yes but—not where I _want_ you to."

"Oh?" he dipped his head, this time to lightly scrape the stubble of his chin, against her bared shoulder; she jolted, then giggled as she tried to close the gap by drawing her shoulder to her chin.

He snickered, brushed his lips against the shell of her ear and purred darkly, "And where _exactly_ do you want me—to **touch** you, Clarke?"

She gasped, feeling his thumb just lightly stir at her breast, teasing it.

" _Godsdammit,_ Roan, I hate you…" she declared breathlessly, but he only laughed darker still.

"Mmm, so you keep telling me."

Taking a chance, he nibbled experimentally on her ear; when he gained a reaction—her breath stuttering briefly—he took it a step further, and traced along the inner shell, with his tongue.

He was _not_ prepared for the violent shudder that wracked her body as she sharply arched against him.

"It appears, I've found one of the places you—want me to touch." His lips curled wickedly, and he repeated the attention to her ear several more times, until she was gasping wantonly and writhing, as though she'd _come_ right then and there.

" _St-Stop!"_ She pleaded breathlessly.

"Not a chance." He rumbled thickly, and curved a strong arm around her waist. Dragging her against him, his free arm snaked up behind her back, till his fingers were tangling into the long silken tresses at the base of her neck.

He tugged, angling her head back to expose more of her throat to his hungry eyes, and dragged parted lips up the length of her throat, scraping his teeth across her pulse point.

They took their time this way; Clarke clung to Roan desperately, and her hands caged his head against her, while he continuously delivered slow, drawn out kisses up the length of her throat, until he reached her face; he covered every inch of it with his lips, too.

Her cheeks,

Her nose,

Her forehead, and both of her eyes.

Soon, they were perched in the lavish window seat near his balcony, with Clarke curled in Roan's lap and facing him, as he continued to pepper her face, neck and shoulders, with soft, sweet kisses. His hands roamed her back and sides aimlessly; first, he traced the outline of her shoulder blades with feathered strokes of his fingertips, then he pressed a line down the length of her spine, the tip of his fingers dipping and arcing with every indent and curve of bone. And lastly, his hands splayed against the small of her back—pressing her body to his more firmly—before they skated up her ribs and back down again, to span her waist as their final resting place.

Her arms were locked around his neck, and she rested her elbows on his shoulders so she could reach up with her hands and card her fingers through his hair.

Sitting on her heels and still facing him, Clarke lost herself in the moment as her fingers stroked through his hair; it was softer than she'd expected it to be, and this simple thought made her smile.

When she'd risen to her knees to put her face more level with the crown of his head, Roan's hands had slid lower to rest contentedly upon her hips, and he found he was equally as content to simply watch his _Wanheda_ have her way with him. At the sight of her infectious smile as she luxuriated in his hair, the _Azgedan_ king's lips curved into a curiously fond smile; how could a _small_ thing as playing with his hair, bring Clarke such unadulterated pleasure?

Feeling his eyes upon her, Clarke's fingers stayed their combing motion through his hair, and she looked down at him.

He was watching her with no small amount of amusement dancing in his eyes, and she bit corner of her bottom lip, and blushed _hard_.

"S-Sorry, I just uh…kind of been wanting to do that for awhile." She said, by way of explanation.

Roan shook his head, then said, "Don't apologize, I hardly mind; just curious that you find such obvious enjoyment in such a minor thing as—my hair." And there it was; that little flicker in his eyes and the slight quirk of his mouth that always accompanied it, whenever he teased her.

Which was quite often, as Clarke had come to learn that Roan found her terribly amusing, and her childlike pleasures, too tempting to resist the ribbing.

She snickered sheepishly, "Well, I'm glad that I can at least amuse you, _Ain haihefa_ …" She responded cheekily.

His eyes narrowed dubiously, the barest hint of a smirk touching his lips, before he was rumbling low in his chest and nosing her chin up to nuzzle against her throat.

Then, he tucked his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder, and Clarke let out a shriek as he vigorously dragged his bearded chin across her flesh, tickling her.

Never before, had he been blessed by the sounds of her unadulterated laughter, and it struck Roan then, that he could live ten thousand lifetimes with the noise of her laughter ever by his side, and be _supremely_ happy.

His arms tightened around her waist, at the thought, and he _squeezed_ , holding her closer.

She framed his face between her tiny hands, stared deeply down into his eyes, and then lingeringly kissed his forehead.

All-encompassing _love_ swept through Roan, and he pressed fervent lips to the dip between her collarbones, before gazing up at her with winterous orbs sluiced in fire, "I want you for my queen, Clarke." He passionately declared.

She stared at him, struck dumb, as her heartrate galloped like hell itself was at its heels.

"— _What?"_

"You heard me, _Wanheda_ ; I mean it. I want you as my queen. I—I want you for my _wife_ , Clarke." His ardent declaration, knocked the air straight out of Clarke's lungs, and for a moment, she reared back, gasping, _"You—oh, you can't—_ of all the things to say, you chose—!"

" _Wanheda,"_ his voice called her to calm, but there was an edge of sharp need, that tugged at some place deeply rooted within her, and Clarke blinked rapidly as tears formed. "Roan I—you _can't_ , you—your people _would-Azgeda_ would never accept me! They would never allow you to make such a choice—" she was on her feet, and he followed,

"'Allow' me? I'm King of _Azgeda_ , Clarke, lest you've forgotten."

"Of course not, that's my point! You're _King_ of _Azgeda,_ I know just as well as anyone, what's expected of you; they'll want you to choose an _Azgedan_ wife; or if not, they'd present you with candidates from the other clans, in hopes of strengthening alliances—"

"Are you also forgetting that you are Clarke _kom Skaikru?_ The Thirteenth Clan?" He half-snickered, but Clarke did _not_ see the humor,

"That's different. The other twelve _Kru_ have been established for decades, _Roan—Skaikru_ may be the 13th clan, but we are tolerated at best; you succeeded in uniting the clans in Brotherhood, but _m-marriage_ is completely—"

"You say that word, like it's so absurd, you can't believe it." He noted. There was no malice his tone, and he regarded her with open, serious eyes that were simply curious.

"Because I _can't_ believe it. Not—because it's 'absurd', just that it's—it's like you essentially proposed to me…"

She bit her lip, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and folding an arm behind her back so she could grip the opposite elbow.

"Not 'essentially' Clarke; I did."

Her eyes cut to his again, clear amazement spreading across her face, as she bit back a disheartened sort of sound.

She knew this could never work.

Yet her heart clearly didn't share her head's logic, and soared right up to the pinnacle of inexplicable elation.

She felt like she was bursting at the seams, but she covered it with an inscrutable look, tinged with presentiment. "Well, I wouldn't know; I mean, you didn't say the official words, after all, so I couldn't necessarily be sure." She was toeing around the issue, like a hopeful child, still too frightened to dare grasp hold of the priceless gift being offered them.

Roan's eyes warmed with inexplicable fondness, and he shook his head ruefully. "You really are impossible."

In the next second, he was striding across the room, until he was three steps from her—and promptly dropped to a knee.

She exhaled a laugh, and covered her mouth with a hand, and she knew the glittering mischief in his eyes, was his way of saying 'you asked for it'

With one hand poised on the hilt of his sword, and the other resting atop his bent knee, Roan fixed his gaze upon the woman he loved, and declared valiantly, _"Ai hod yu in, Clarke kom Skaikru. Kom au Ai haiplana, en Ai na badan op Yu raun badannes en raun hod in, til Ai wan op [I love you, Clarke of Skaikru. Become my queen, and I will serve you in loyalty and in love, till the day I die.]."_

Clarke _gaped_ at him in disbelief, then let out a half-laugh, before covering her face with her hands, and bursting into tears.

" _Clarke…"_ His voice was almost pained as he called out to her.

Overcome, Clarke was bent nearly in half, bracing one hand upon her knee, with the other cupped over her mouth as she fought to stifle the sudden onslaught of sobs.

Part of her was heartbroken—but the bigger part of her was so achingly, deliriously happy, she couldn't contain the swell of emotions within herself.

"Sweetheart, are you really that upset, that I would ask you to—"

"No! Oh gods, _no I'm—I'm not upset,"_

It was then that he caught the _exalted_ _smile_ that had broken out across her face, despite the tears, and Roan's eyes softened with the most tender expression as he stood to his feet and reached out his hand.

"I know you worry that my people will never accept you. I know you are afraid that this will only tear us apart in the end, but Clarke, there _is—no one_ on this earth who could stand at my side; no one but you. You don't give yourself enough credit, my love; the clans are united; _truly_ united, for the first time in decades, and it is all—because of _you._ And you have given my people— _Azgeda,_ peace and safety. At last, what I've fought and bled for," Roan's voice grew thick with emotion as he looked upon her, and with glacial eyes glistening with overwhelming gratitude, he said softly, "You have given me the future of _Azgeda_. So yes, Sweetheart; I am asking you to stand by my side; not just for them, but for _me_ because—there will _never_ be another's soul that I ache for, the way my heart aches for you."

He took a step towards her, arms open and reaching,

"Clarke. I'm still waiting for your answer." He intoned, teasingly, but there was a mild quaver in his dark voice, that suddenly had laughter bubbling up from within Clarke, as well as tears.

Standing straight and tall, she sniffled; trying in vain, to stop the tears, she settled for scrubbing back of her hands against her cheeks, then raised her eyes to lock with Roan's, and said, "As if my answer—w-would be anything other than 'yes'; you're right. I'm scared that this will—change everything, and not all for the better, but—yes. _Yes, a thousand times_!"

And then her tears were pouring freely once more, as Roan took her and swept her up into his arms. They embraced—his arms wound around her so tightly, they nearly met his body, and her arms caging his head with her face buried against his neck as she whispered fervently over and over, "Yes, Yes, I'll marry you. _Yes, I love you!"_

Roan swept the hair back from her tear-streaked face, touched his forehead to hers, and just lost himself within her eyes.

Clarke stared back. Eyes misting, heart _full_ , and thanking God that she was indeed, the falling comet in _Azgeda's_ sky.

/

 **Yeah, NOT concise at all! Lol! Oh lord…well, I tried. Take it or leave it, love it or hate it; it's up to you!**


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